


A common enemy

by LadyGloucester



Category: Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-02
Updated: 2017-11-08
Packaged: 2018-12-10 07:05:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 39,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11686542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyGloucester/pseuds/LadyGloucester
Summary: In this AU, Claire is engaged with Jack Randall, and Jamie is an outlaw that lives looking for justice. Will they be able to acknowledge their common enemy and find what they were looking in each other, or will life tear them apart?





	1. The ambush

It was a typical Scottish morning. The fine drizzle hadn’t really stopped through the night and the wool of his kilt was heavy and sticked to his legs. The sun hadn’t come up yet, and the light was pale and grayish as the robes of the monks that had accompanied him during his months in the monastery. Jamie shook his hair, letting the drops fall over his shoulders while rubbing his face. Last night was a late night, finalizing the plans and assigning every role to the boys. He accommodated further onto the ground, among the bushes, before holding still.

“We won’t have another chance before winter comes,” Dougal said while staring into the flames of the camp fire. “If we let him get to Fort William, he’ll settle there and we won’t be able to lay hands on him until spring.” His words were followed by nods and grumbling. “This is what we’ve waited for. Tomorrow, we put and end to it.”

The grunts rose quietly in agreement. Jamie sat silently, by the fire, listening to his uncle. Black Jack Randall had terrorized the region the last five years. Only remembering his name in his mind made the scars in his back tense and sore. But even though this was long due, Jamie still doubted about the plan. He had vocalized his concerns to Dougal earlier that day, only to be met with disdain.

“If we do this, and fail, we willna be the only ones to pay the price. All our families, the people we ken, they’ll face it too.” Finally said softly, at first without taking his eyes from the flames, then looking eye to eye to every single one of the men in the circle. Some of them looked away, knowing Jamie and his past, and how he had paid dearly his ‘obstruction’ to the king’s justice. Others looked back, defiantly, nodding with resignation.

“That’s why we willna fail, lad.” Dougal sentenced, before standing up and trample on the fire to put out the last embers.

The sound of distant hoofs against the stones and dirt of the road uprooted his mind from remembrance. His eyes stood fixated on the corner where the horses would appear. His left hand held the dagger a little harder, while the dirk on his right rested ready to draw blood. This was an all-in bet, but living as outlaws had left them with no other chance. It was either this, or the executioner’s noose. Not a tough choice.

Gritting his teeth, Jamie saw the head of the caravan emerging among the dense vegetation that enclosed that elbow of the road. It was a perfect spot for an ambush. One, two, three… he counted quietly. Eight redcoats in the front. That was doable. His muscles were tense, ready for action, about to propel him onto the first soldier, when he heard a whistle. Low, almost indistinguishable from a sparrow trill.

He turned his head to the angle in the road and saw it. With a swear in his lips, he saw the carriage rattling on the dirt. Randall never traveled by carriage. He’d rather ride his own horse, a magnificent Barb stallion that always caught Jamie’s eye. This was unexpected. Clenching his jaw, he sought Dougal with his eyes. There was no way they could know who was traveling inside that coach. It could be him… or it could be anyone else. Jamie hissed softly, commanding the men to back off, but his uncle wouldn’t have it. With a guttural highlander scream that had frozen every English man that heard it, Dougal MacKenzie jumped on the horses and stabbed his dirk in the first redcoat’s neck.

 

* * *

 

“But… I don’t want to. I don’t want to go alone.”

“You won’t be alone. My men will protect you and escort you to Fort William, and that’s all to it.”

“But…”

In two strides, her fiancé had her cornered against the mahogany writing desk. His hand rose quick as a snake to grab her neck and jaw, and tightened his grip slowly. His fingers carved into her soft flesh and she knew there would be marks afterwards. Her eyes traveled swiftly between his and the floor, not wanting to defy him any further. She felt the tears stung but kept them in. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry. Not again.

“You. Will. Go.”

His breath felt warm against her skin. He was close, close enough to caress her cheek with his nose, letting her smell the fine cognac in his mouth. She held still until his grip loosened and she was able to sneak past him. But as she was leaving the room, Claire stood still one last second, doing an elegant bow with his back turned to him. She had learnt the hard way to always be polite to him, and the bruises that would arise in her neck were enough for one day.

She was awaken in the middle of the night. The roads were safer when you travel when no one expects it, Jack always said. Claire never saw any common sense in this thought, since traveling at night was always advised against. But she wasn’t fighting anymore. With sore eyes and even a sorer back, she got dressed with simple and comfortable clothes, ready for the long journey. The carriage was ready and waiting for her. Randall, of course, was nowhere to be seen, but one of his soldiers helped her up the tiny stairs with a gentle smile she returned with apathy.

The caravan started to move slowly, lining up for the road, while the crickets still sang their serenade. It was a moonless night. One of those when fairies and spirits left their secret hideaways and run into the forests. It wasn’t long before the road became uneven and bumpy. Usually, she would ride her horse with Jack, knowing they both enjoyed traveling that way, but a carriage was a welcome novelty. Summer was about to say farewell to those lands, and the weather was not only humid, but also cold.

She curled up in her wool blanket, wrapping it around her arms and shoulders, and looked outside. Not that she was going to see anything, but the soft murmur of the branches grazing the sides of the carriage was enough entertainment to her. Two hours after the departure, Claire had got accustomed to the bouncing and was surrendering to the drowsiness of the trip. Her head slightly banged against the wall of the carriage when it suddenly stopped. Then, it all became a blur.

The screams outside the little cubicle froze her entire body. She squished herself against the corner of the bench, without taking her eyes off the door. Her heart almost escaped her chest when a stream of blood came through the small window, followed by the slashed neck of the soldier that had helped her before. He slowly fell to the floor, his fingers clutching the border of the door before death finally relaxed them.

That gut wrenching image was followed suit by another. A huge, redheaded highlander, fencing a dagger full of blood just as his face and shirt were, pulled out the door as if it was a piece of paper. His eyes, full of rage and murderous at first, suddenly were clouded with confusion. His brows furrowed above them and his stance changed. He lifted his hands, trying to instill some peace in this whole hectic situation, and slowly climbed the stairs into the carriage.

 

* * *

 

Jaime jumped on the second redcoat and slit his throat without a second thought. He never enjoyed killing, but in that kind of situation, it was either him or the English. He had no remorse because of his decision. They were outnumbered, but the ambush always gave advantage to the attackers. By the time the soldiers had realized they were being attacked, it was already too late.

Jamie kept an eye on the carriage. If Black Jack Randall was there, he wanted to be the one to kill him. He closed the distance between him and the door in a few steps, but before he could reach the doorknob, one of the soldiers appeared from nowhere and leaped on him, sword in hand. The gush he felt open in his thigh almost made him lose his step, but he managed to use the movement to turn and gain the soldiers back, right before slashing his throat from behind. It took him a second to recompose himself and prepare for what he was going to do.

Finally, five years of pain, sorrow and dishonor would come to an end. And he would see to it.

But when he teared the door open, instead of seeing his nemesis, he was confronted with a young —or maybe not too young— woman. His avenging thirst slowly drained, as confusion started to sink in. A woman? Who was she? And where the hell was Randall?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! This is the first chapter of a new work, I hope you like it. This is merely the set up for everything that has to come. Excuse me if there are any mistakes, English is not my first language, but I'll do my best to give Jamie his voice (and his accent). Hope you like it!!


	2. The confrontation

Never heard before sounds reverberated in her ears. The agony screams, the gaelic slang, but above all, the steel. The clashing of the swords, the noise the blade made when it entered the flesh, the crash of life and death on the dirt. It was frenetic. The overwhelming fear, the uncertainty of the nearest future, the smell of demise burdening her nose. All her senses were sharpened and, at the same time, her mind was completely blocked faced with all the stimuli that flooded her.

Time slowed down to a painfully unhurried cadence. When the red dash of curls appeared through the door, her heart skipped a bit in panic, then resumed its beating, fast, runaway. The fear and her instincts kicked in and when the highlander began to come closer, Claire took advantage of his unexpected change of demeanor and threw her foot as hard as he could against his face, hitting him with a loud thud. Then she launched herself through the door, hoping to bypass the highlander and escape, but she miscalculated his strength. With gaelic profanity still ringing in her ears, she felt his arms surrounding roughly her waist and holding her over his shoulder.

“Let me go!! You fool, bloody brute!!“ She screamed while kicking.

“Watch it, meer. Ye might kick me once but next time I will treat ye as I do with my mules.”

But Claire didn’t stop fighting. When they both came out the carriage, her frantic skirmish made her hit her head with the threshold and dizziness took her senses away. Jamie felt her body get calmer, and allowed her to descend in front of him, sliding her against his chest, keeping his arms solidly wrapped around her waist and capturing her own arms under his bond. The men saw him and their faces varied from astonished to disappointed, in a colorful array of sneers, most of them directed at his bloody nose.

“Didna know Randall wore skirts these days,” said Angus causing a general burst of laughter in the middle of the adrenaline rush they all felt.

Dougal, however, didn’t laugh. Not even a sly smile crossing his thin lips. He accommodated his bonnet, and cleaned the blood of his mouth against the sleeve of his shirt. Jamie’s eyes watched his uncle while he slowly strode towards them. He felt the English woman resistance quietly subside, but still was there, dormant, just waiting for the concussion to go away. He made a gesture to Rupert, one of his clansmen, to get some rope and tie her hands, but as he was about get on with it, Dougal pulled out the rope from his hands, threw it to the ground and draw his dagger.

Just as he was unsheathing, Jamie pushed the woman behind him and put himself before her. Without Jamie’s support, she fell to the ground, numb and unaware of the rush of events that had developed in matter of seconds.

“Jamie lad, move. She canna live. She saw us.”

The faces of both men were close. Blue and brown eyes, defying each other. Jamie was one of the tallest man of the clan, but his uncle wasn’t any shorter. Silence overcame the scene, not even the wind dared to blow among the leaves. But where Dougal was impulsive and abrasive, Jamie had colder blood. He knew how to restrain his anger and contemplate honestly what was right and wrong. And killing that woman _was_ wrong.

“We dinna ken who she is. We dinna even ken if she has anything to do wi' Randall.”

The tone of his voice was soft, as always. Low and rich, but there was a firm edge to it. Even though his eyes never left his uncle’s he was well aware of where the dagger was, and how he’d stop it if it came to that. Dougal was waiting for this. For a chance to measure himself against his sister’s bairn. The only one that, if things went sourly, could deprive him of ruling the clan one day. There was more at stake than the life of a wench. It was a clash of powers, of minds, and of different ways of seeing life and justice. After a silence that seemed to last forever, Jamie’s voice quietly filled the moment.

“We maun take her with us and fin’ out who she is. For nou she’s under my protection.”

Placing her under his direct protection was a bold move, and Dougal knew it. The clans law still ruled those hills and meadows, and when a highlander declared in this way, only killing him would deter him from fulfilling his promise. That woman wouldn’t die if Jamie didn’t first, and there was no time for it. _Not yet, at least._

 

* * *

 

When Claire regained some control over her senses, the first thing she felt was the rope, rough and painfully tied around her wrists. Testing its strength, she realized it wasn’t too tight, but enough for it to be undoable. With a sigh leaving her parched lips, she leaned back to rest, only to realize the context of the situation. Between her legs there was a splendid Arab horse, and riding behind her with one arm around her waist and the other holding the reigns, there was a man, and not a little one. The shock was probably tangible in her body, because a familiar low voice spoke almost into her hair and sent chills over her spine.

“It was about time, lass. Thought ye’d sleep till the morn… No, dinna try to,” he warned her while tightening his grip on her. “Ye’d probably fall off the horse, and it’s not a nice way to start off yer day, losing all those pretty teeth.”

“My day already started with an almost decapitated soldier in my carriage. Don’t think it can get any worse,” she barked under her breath while he let out a low, quiet laugh, but stopped shaking the rope. “Where are you taking me?”

“Somewhere ye can rest. We all can. ’Tis been a rough night for all of us.”

After a while, the dizziness was completely gone and replaced by a pounding headache. The blow against the threshold must have caused a gash in her temple, where she felt the skin tender and wet. The hours flowed slowly, excruciatingly slow. Her hips began to ache from the riding and even though at first she tried not to, Claire gave up and leaned against her captor. He didn’t seem to mind, as he stood straight on the horse, with the mastery of someone who is accustomed to long journeys on the saddle.

The sun was low when the group decided to stop. To avoid being seen, they had left the road aside and the ride was a test of resilience for everyone. The man who appeared to be in charge restrained his horse and looked around, inspecting the turf.

“Aye, we camp here for the night. Tend to the horses first.”

The redheaded highlander riding behind her got off the horse more gracefully than it was expected for a man of his size, and grabbed her waist to help her down. His hands felt strong, and when she stood on the ground, she could feel the heat irradiating from his body, only inches away from hers. His cinnamon curls stuck to his forehead with a mixture of sweat, blood and drizzle, and obscured his deep blue eyes, who lingered upon her a bit more than it seemed necessary.

He then grabbed her rope and drove her carefully to a tree nearby, helping her sit by the trunk.

“Dinna move or try to run. Ye ken you willna make it far before we get you.”

It wasn’t a threat. It was a statement. With her hands tied, the soreness of her body longing for a warm bead and the headache making her feel the blood rushing through her brain, there was no chance she could plot an escape. Let alone fulfill it. She nodded silently and laid back against the wet bark, closing her eyes.

The small camp was instilled with life. Every man knew what he was supposed to do, and while the redheaded was in charge of the horses, others prepared the bonfire and a couple of them left to inspect the vicinity with small bows. The sun was already setting and darkness expanding over the crown of the trees when the man who captured her returned, followed suit by two of the men carrying two small rabbits.

She hadn’t realize how hungry she was until the smell of the stew started to smoke. And then, it all hit her at once, unleashing a wave of fear that shook her to the bone. She was alone in the forest, with outlaws and murderers that had exterminated her whole caravan. As much as she knew, they could kill her in her sleep and they seemed pretty favorable to the idea in her eyes, all together a few feet away from her, whispering in gaelic and looking at her over their shoulders. _No masters of discretion, that’s for sure_.

 

* * *

 

“Who d'ye think she is?” Rupert asked, hands on his hips.

“The best way to fin’ out is to ask her.” Jamie grabbed the flask that was being passed along and took a long sip. He looked around and turned to the woman sat by the tree, squatting down in front of her and offering the flask. She refused with a gesture of her tied hands, but Jamie insisted. “'It willna fill your belly, but it will make ye forget you're hungry”. She slowly nodded and grabbed the flask, taking a long sip before returning it.

“Why are you taking me with you?” She inquired with a spark of pride flying in her eyes. Jamie smiled and covered the flask.

“We dinna ken who you are, Sassenach. It would help your situation to throw some light on the subject.”

Her eyes dropped and Jamie could see her mind running wild. Obviously she was going to lie, but at least he was willing to give her the chance to tell the truth.

“We dinna want to hurt you. We can, and some of us are more willing than others,” he added looking slightly over his shoulder, “but you are safe with me. Ye need not be scairt of me. Nor anyone else here, so long as I'm with ye.”

The woman looked him straight in the eye, confused, surprised and still not fully trusting him. It didn’t matter. He had uttered the words and would die, if it came to it, to keep his word.

 

* * *

 

It was stupid to trust him, that’s for sure. But there was something in his eyes, some sort of… Comfort? Sincerity? She couldn’t put a name to it, but it was warm. And inviting.

“You’re asking me who I am and for all that I know, you’re just a kidnapper and a fugitive.”

A smirk started to appear in his lips and a small chuckle followed it.

“Fair is fair, Sassenach. I’m Jamie.“

“Claire.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there! I've been hooked up writing this. Hope you enjoy it! Let me know what you think about these Jamie and Claire!


	3. The lie

“Fair is fair, Sassenach. I’m Jamie.“

“Claire.”

The silence fell between them. Not an uncomfortable one, but an absence of sound that allowed them to share something private, something that was unspoken, but still, latent. Dougal’s strides broke the moment. He grabbed Claire’s rope and pulled her up, forcing her to stand up and chafing her back against the tree.

“Dougal!” Jamie’s voice was loaded with warning as he stood beside him. His uncle looked at him and then, back at Claire, whom he had cornered against the tree, grabbing her jaw.

“Don’t, Jamie. Don’t. Tell me who you are.”

“I already told him, my name is Claire…“

“Who you are!!” Dougal shouted. Claire’s eyes search frantically for Jaime’s. He nodded with some sort of plead. Her face turned to stone then, and looked back at Dougal.

“I’m not a murderer, which is more than you can…” The slap on her face knocked her to the ground and sent her headache over the edge. From down there, she was able to see Jamie suddenly push Dougal, and his feet stagger backwards.

“ _She_ is under my protection!” If Jamie’s voice before was full of warning, this was an utter threat he was willing to fulfill. “If you ever touch her again, Dougal, we will have more than words and you ken it.”

Again, both men measured each other closely. Jamie, slowly, backed off and laid out his hand to help her back on her feet, but she managed to do it by herself. Jamie’s hand then rested carefully on her back, signaling her to start walking into the woods, away from this powder keg about to explode.

“Make her speak. Or I will.”

Dougal’s words sounded muffled by the vegetation that surrounded them in a few steps. She could feel Jamie’s tense stance, and when he helped her sit on a log, he sat beside her at a proper distance.

“I dinna mind who you are. You’re not what we were looking for, and that’s all that matters. But Dougal there isn’t going to have it any other way, you ken that?”

He was speaking forward, his eyes wandering in the darkness, not looking at her. Claire moved uncomfortably her hands, trying to get some space for her sore wrists and gaining time in the meanwhile. A sigh escaped her mouth, and captured back his attention. His fingers touched her temple and made her wince.

“Aye, that is a painful place to get a slash. Shoud’ve thought about it before kicking and fussing.” A smirk grazed his lips as he used his cuff, after looking for the part that was the cleanest, to wipe it. She prepared for a rough treatment, but his delicacy caught her completely off guard. He smiled apologetically. “Sorry I’m not healer. Dinna think it’ll get worse.” He tapped twice again, and left it.

“It won’t. I just need some summer savory to clean it and some cayenne for the pain,” she mumbled quietly before realizing the bloodied clothe that was tied around his left thigh. “And you could use them as well…”

“Are ye a healer, Sassenach?”

His blue eyes read into hers, searching for the truth. She wasn’t what they were looking for, he had said. Maybe they knew Jack Randall was suppose to go in that caravan and he was the target of their ambush, but if it was so, telling them who she really was wouldn’t be the smartest move. So she grabbed the olive branch that Jamie was offering, and nodded. She was quite the herbalist and her traveling youth with her uncle Lambert had gotten her a good amount of knowledge about how to use herbs and ointments to treat diseases and wounds. That seemed like a safe bet.

“Yes, I am. I’m at Captain Randall service, and he sent me back to Fort William when he got other businesses to tend to.”

At the mention of his name, however, Claire felt Jamie’s body straighten in the dark, and a low hiss leaving his lips.

“Where is he now?”

“I… I really don’t know. He only told me to continue our journey to Fort William. I’m only at his service, he doesn’t share his personal plans with me.”

His brow furrowed while he watched her in silence. _Probably thinking if he must believe me or not_.

“Aye, Sassenach. Dinna worry for the leg. Been worse than that.“

He helped her back on her feet, but the small wince that crossed his angular features didn’t go unnoticed by Claire.

Back at the camp, most of the men were wrapped up in their capes and snoring soundly. Most of them, but not Dougal, who welcomed them with a wry eye. Jamie hold his gaze while taking off his cape and lending it to Claire.

“Ye can lay down here. I’ll watch.”

The ground didn’t look too inviting, but nevertheless she accepted his words and curled up near a tree. Jamie sat down by her head, with his back against the bark, and draw his dagger with a sound that made her startled. He was going to stay up in case Dougal wanted to try his hand against her. Which, without Jamie’s protection, would be as easy as stealing a candy from a baby. But, as her eyes were closing against her own will, a strange feeling of safety covered her like his blanket, warm, welcoming and carrying his own scent.

 

* * *

 

She woke up right before dawn, that moment when the world seem quiet, without a single concern. Disoriented, she wondered for a second why her bed felt so hard. Then reality washed over her making her tremble. Claire curled up further into the cape, and then realized a warm presence closer than she imagined. Under her cheek there was a muscular thigh, covered by the wool of a kilt. Over her left arm, a hand laid relaxed, almost carefree, but instilling her whole body with warmth. It was a pleasant feeling, one she hadn’t felt before. Then she realized she had been laying over the wounded leg, and slowly, sat up taking care of the arm that surrounded her and putting it back on his lap.

She took a moment to observe him. While asleep, his mouth rested a little bit open. His high cheekbones and straight nose reminded her of the greek sculptures her uncle always praised. The curls that framed his face gave him a youthful look and she wondered how old he would be. Clearly younger than her. Younger than anyone else in that group, even with the golden stub that covered his cheeks and chin.

_Enough, Beauchamp. If you want to do this, you have to do it fast._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is as far as I've got by now, but I'm already writing chapter 4. Hope you enjoy it :)


	4. The getaway

When he opened his eyes, instantly knew something wasn’t right. In the middle of the night, a soft pinch in his leg had brought him back from sleep. Ready as he was for anything and everything, the last thing he could imagine was happening. Slowly, than brown haired woman had crawled into his lap, and her head was resting against his belly, on his thigh. He couldn’t help it. His fingers carefully caressed her curls, disarrayed around her head and so silky to the touch. Tentatively, his hand almost decided to rest by itself on her arm, and it was welcomed with a sleepy smile. His lips drew another one of his own, before easing himself back to sleep.

But that was different. Sun was about to come up and the camp would soon wake up, but Claire was nowhere to be seen. The cape was discarded by his side, but no sight of the rope or any other thing missing. His brow furrowed, trying to figure out which way she had go. Getting on his feet without making a sound, he looked for footprints, hints, a trail. It was easy to spot. Almost looked like she wasn’t trying to hide it. And she was… walking, not running.

_What the hell, Sassenach…_

Concern started to get a grip on him. What if she got lost? Or if someone took her? A cold sweat began to form a thin layer on his forehead, despite the morning cold. The footprints were irregular. It almost looked like she was… looking for something? There were some here and there, and then a few around a bush before heading back to the main trail. He was about to call her name when he heard her.

It was a low hum, but full of musicality. Jamie sighed, leaning back on a tree while observing her, completely unaware of his presence. She was singing to herself an old tune, and he was close enough to figure out the words.

 

> ‘Pray let me alone,
> 
> I have hands of my own;
> 
> Along with you I will not go,
> 
> To hear the fond tale
> 
> Of the sweet nightingale,
> 
> As she sings in those valleys below;
> 
> For I am afraid
> 
> To walk in the shade,
> 
> To walk in those valleys below,
> 
> To walk in those valleys below.’
> 
> ‘Pray sit yourself down
> 
> With me on the ground,
> 
> On this bank where sweet primroses grow;
> 
> You shall hear the fond tale
> 
> Of the sweet nightingale,
> 
> As she sings in those valleys below;
> 
> So be not afraid
> 
> To walk in the shade,
> 
> Nor yet in those valleys below,
> 
> Nor yet in those valleys below.’

 

His heart was pounding hard in his chest. She wasn’t the best singer, but there was something extremely appealing about seeing her without being noticed. Seeing the drizzle curl her locks, her hands white as a dove’s wings fluttering around the bushes. The delicacy of her fingers tearing out stems and flowers. The aplomb that covered her actions, deciding whether that plant was correct or poisonous. It was hypnotizing.

It took him a while to figure out what she was doing, until she turned around with her skirt slightly pulled up forming a precarious basket full of herbs. But the sight of him suddenly startled her and her hands dropped the cloth, and with it, the precious load it was carrying.

“Holy Mother Mary!” Claire’s hands flied to her chest, as if trying to keep her heart inside her chest. Jamie lifted his hands apologetically and hurried up to her, kneeling and picking up the herbs she just dropped. “There’s nothing here for a heart disease,” she mumbled, still trembling from the scare.

“Sorry there, Sassenach. Wisna my intention at all…” Jamie truly looked distressed for having startled her.

“How long have you been there?”

“Errr…” A blush took over his face, furiously, as he searched for words. “Not long, no. I was worried, woke up and ye weren't there. For a moment I thought something happened to ye.”

They finished collecting the herbs back in her skirt and stood up. Claire looked at him curiously, and tilted her head.

“You didn’t think I ran away?”

“Only for a second. Before I found your trail. It was… weird.”

“Well, I was looking for something we could use on that wound,” she pointed at his thigh. “I didn’t like the look of it and wanted to…” This time it was her turn to blush. “Well, you’ve been really attentive (for a captor, at least) and I just wanted to pay you back.”

His eyes pierced hers, blue as the Scottish sky on those rare days when the clouds laid away. There was something magnetic to them. Even though the situation was far from ideal and she should be more afraid than anything, Claire couldn’t help it. She trusted that redheaded highlander that took off his cape to keep her warm and was ready to fight one of his own to protect her. Jamie broke their gaze and stood up, offering his hand to help her up. Even with the years of sword fighting and hard work, his palm was soft, and his long fingers encased hers with tenderness, slightly caressing the back of her hand with his thumb.

“Better go back before Dougal wakes up. He willna be happy if we’re missing. But before...“ Jamie unsheathed his sgian-dubh from his boot and swiftly cut the rope around her wrists. 

“Ye dinna need it, Sassenach. You’re my prisoner, ken? I trust ye not to run into the wilderness and end up eaten by wolves.” 

Claire rubbed her sore wrists, grateful to feel the blood circulating back into her hands. They were stiff and where the rope had been tighter, achy scabs were forming.

“I’d thank you if I knew why you’re keeping me prisoner. I’m no one. No one that matters, at least,” she muttered.

 

The camp was still quiet when they returned, and the embers of last night’s fire still crept in the stone circle. Claire kneeled by it, produced a pot with some water from a nearby canteen and set it over the fire, rekindling it with small blows. Soon the flames timidly crackled and the water started to smoke. Breaking the low hem of her white underskirt, she threw the cloth in the pot and let it boil.

Jamie observed her every move as if a wizard of some kind was about to perform a trick on him. There was something to her manner, the way she moved her pale hands, with skill and not an ounce of self doubt, that he found fascinating. Patiently, he waited sat by the tree while she prepared a concoction with the herbs, and when the steam of the result filled their nostrils, Claire took the pot and kneeled beside him. Then, doubt appeared for the first time as her gaze took turns between his eyes and his thigh.

“Mind if… if I…“

“Suit yerself, Sassenach.” Jamie’s smirk lifted one corner of his mouth, while he pushed aside the folds of his kilt. The skin underneath was red and purple, and blood had dried round the wound.

With a sigh, Claire took the dirty bandage and slowly tore it from the wound. It wasn’t a pleasant sight, when she finally discarded it. The gash was deep, but the edges were smooth and she could sew it up in no time… if only she had the means to do it. Frowning, she extracted the cloth from the aromatic pot and after wringing it out, she started to pat the wound cautiously but with a firm touch. The dried blood and the dirt needed to go if he wanted to keep the leg from rotting.

“I assume you don’t have needle and thread, do you?” Her voice came with confidence and resolve, and Jamie arched an eyebrow.

“Look in my pouch.”

Claire turned her head to look at him and the surprise in her features made him smile. She grabbed the small leather sack he was offering and started to go through the things it contained. The sudden show of trust made her blush as she realized those probably were his only possesions. A big iron key, beautifully engraved, a small wooden snake, soft to the touch after the years of erosion, charms and polished stones, a piece of blue crystal… Finally, tied by a small leather ribbon, she found a big curved needle and some thread. Relief took over and she let out a content sigh.

“This will probably hurt. I’ll try my best, but please, do not move,” Claire advised with a serious tone that instantly reminded Jamie of her sister, and how she patched him up whenever he hurt himself. That memory clouded his eyes for a second and stole his voice, so he just nodded to her improvised nurse and diverted his gaze.

Puzzled by this unexpected change of demeanor, Claire blinked and turned back to his task. After cleaning it, the wound had a much better appearance. Air filled her lungs deeply, before sticking the needle into the tender flesh. The leg stayed still, but corner of her eye she saw the pain pursing his lips. She vowed to herself she’d do it as fast and painless as she could, and in just a few minutes, the wound was properly sewn, patched and cleanly bandaged.

Claire let herself finally sat down after the tension escaped her shoulders. It was different than other times. She was used to screams, and tears, and complains, but that highlander had just hissed once when she hit a particularly painful spot, and stoically stayed silent and still through the whole deal. His hand went straight to the bandage, as if to check if it was secured, and bend the knee to test it before standing up and offering his hand for her to reciprocate.

“Sassenach, I have to admit. Ye have good touch.”

 

* * *

 

Jamie decided to keep Claire’s little ramble to himself. Telling Dougal she had escaped under the noses of eight grown up highlanders wasn’t going go earn her any sympathies. And she needed every single one of them. Her status as a Sassenach, an English woman, and to top it all, Jack Randall’s servant (or so she said) wasn’t a pretty thing to be. While they were packing up the camp, Jamie’s eyes often wandered back to her. She was sitting by their tree, classifying the herbs she had collected and tying them up. A cloud of displeasure settled on his brow. She could’ve escaped and yet, she stayed and assisted him. 

When they all climbed up their horses, Jamie helped her ride in front of him again. With one arm solidly wrapped around her waist, he spurred his stallion and followed the group. When the rest of the men had passed by them, Jamie came closer to his ear and his breath made her skin shiver.

"Mind what I told ye? No running through the woods or wondering around to pick up herbs. For now, and until Dougal says otherwise, ye’re comin’ wi’ us.”

“Coming with you, where?”

 

* * *

 

 

That damned stubborn highlander wouldn’t give her a single clue. Her questions were answered with silence or, in the best case, with another question redirected back at her. She got fed up and rode without a single word, trying to stay as straight on the horse as possible. But when the hours grew long, she slowly crouched back until her back rested against his chest. There was a strange comfort to it, feeling his wide body behind her, allowing herself to place her head against his neck… It was something she had never experienced before.

Jack was completely opposite of this man. Where he met her with coldness, here she felt warmth. His distant behavior diverged from this closeness. Jack’s lean finesse against Jamie’s muscular build. His black, sleek hair instead of wild, vivid red curls. If she could, she’d bet there weren’t two men more different than these. But still, she belonged to Randall. And for all she had managed to know him in the last two years, he wasn’t going to let go of her easily.

_Two years already…_

No. Randall wasn’t going to give up his favorite toy. Love wasn’t a part of their relationship. Submissiveness wasn’t an option. It was survival. She had tried to fight back. To resist. But when she realized the consequences were worse than the suffering he was inflicting her in those moments, she learned to survive. To lower the head. To look in the eye only when required to. To bury her defiant attitude, her curious soul, her nonchalantly demeanor in a dark, deep place where they never crawled back.

She thought of escape everyday. At least, for the first months. But without family, without friends, that was being a real prisoner.

_Here? This is a walkabout._

A snide blew from her lips at the thought, and she felt Jamie’s chest move behind her.

“Never kent oaks were so waulie.” She could feel his chest rumbling with the deep, rich tone of his voice.

“Oh, didn’t you? With those tiny acorns, tingling in their branches, don’t they remind you of anything?”

“Well, never… Sassenach!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there! Claire's song is Sweet Nightingale. When it speaks about walking in the shade, I instantly thought about Claire and the past she has with Randall (and you'll see soon enough). Jamie is always the light, and the song ends up saying "She was no more afraid for to walk in the shade".
> 
> Thanks for reading!!!


	5. The ride

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a bridge chapter, but I think one you might enjoy :)

The winding green fields spread out further than eyes could see. The days were dedicated exclusively to riding, stopping only to tend to the horses and sleep in the shelter of a quiet meadow, here and there. Claire’s skills as a healer became known, and gradually, the men started to trust her with their mishaps. A sprung wrist, some blisters in the thighs because of the long hours on the saddle, bug bites… Claire tried to help every single one of them and stick to her alibi, but she still felt Dougal’s eyes fixated on the back of her head whenever she was working on a wound or a chafing.

Jaime became her shadow. Not much of a talker, she felt his silent presence always nearby. While riding together, his chest became her comfort for the never-ending days of trotting, and every now and then, when the path wasn’t too bumpy, she dozed off with her head slightly banging against him. Jamie usually tightened his grip on her waist on those moments, smelling inconspicuously that herbal scent of her hair that filled his nose and clouded his mind.

He got used to escort her whenever she needed to collect more herbs, and wandered behind her, observing her moves, her pale hands and the shape of her breasts when she bent to pull a stem out of the dirt. Invariably, his ears always turned to red whenever he realized where his eyes had diverted, and prayed that she was too focused on her task to notice his blush.

Every night, Claire would curl up by a tree and he lent her his wool cape. The first nights, he would let her accommodate it by herself, but as days went by, he started to tuck her in and close the distance between them. With his back against the bark, her head would always wind up on his lap, his fingers laced in her curls and his mind recalling one of the first nights on the road.

 

* * *

 

Claire’s eyes snapped open. Blinking confused, she supported herself on her elbow and looked around. Jamie was nowhere to be seen. His cape was around her, warm and fluffy, unaffected by the constant drizzle that had accompanied them that day. Trying to be as quiet as possible, she stood up and let her eyes run over the nearby woods. Not that she could see much. The fire was burning low, and under the crowns of the trees, the light was dim and almost non existent.

Sneaking by some bushes to her right side, the corner of her eye caught a red glimpse approaching. Jamie emerged from the darkness with a long plump leaf in his hand. He stopped right on his tracks and let a low hiss escape his lips before resuming his long strides.

“Ye’re supposed to be sleeping”, he whispered as he sat back by the tree.

Claire mimicked his movement and watched intently his moves. He pulled out his sgian-dubh and inserted its tip in the side of the leaf. It took her a while to realize which plant it was.

“Are you still sore? Does your wound trouble you? I can look and…”

“This isna for me, Sassenach.”

He sheathed the small blade back in his boot and grabbed Claire’s right hand. She wasn’t expecting it and at first, she startled and pulled away. The way his deep blue eyes pierced hers made her return her hand to his, and watched how he slowly pulled up the sleeve, uncovering the wounded wrists he had freed just a few hours before. With a delicate touch she couldn’t imagine, the highlander applied carefully the slimy leaf of aloe vera to her scabs. The relieved breath that left her lips made him smirk.

“Whenever my Da saw I needed a battering, my Ma wad always smear me wit’ this.”

No more explanation was required, as he deftly worked on her skin, one wrist and then the other. When he finished, he blowed over the wound causing goosebumps on her arms.

“Aye. Better”.

And discarding the rest of the leaf, he rested his back against the tree and closed his eyes. Claire couldn’t stop looking at him in astonishment. She had silently accepted his treatment and her wrists felt much less tight and sore. But she didn’t understand why he was troubling himself with taking such care of her. Her train of thought kept her staring at his peaceful face until he opened one eye furrowing his brow and making her blush fiercely.

“Sassenach, as much as I loo yer eyes on me, I willna have that rock-solid head thumping me in the chest all day long. Sleep.”

He patted his thigh and, contently enough, she obliged.

 

* * *

 

 

Not that Jamie minded at all. Actually, he craved those moments when she finally gave up and let herself rest against his solidness. His warmth traveled all the way to her under the cape he covered both of them with. It was a small and rare nest of serenity, one neither of them had foreseen. It was a silent pact, a non spoken deal, a bubble that kept them from reality, where they were nothing more than a highlander and a woman riding through the hills and swamps of Scotland.

Before falling asleep on the horse, Claire’s mind inadvertently used to invoked that night when he tended to her wrists. The soft touch, the delicacy, the surprise of the gentle fingers. She was so unused to any tenderness that even the one that her captor provided her with left her bewildered. No, what she was accustomed to was quite the opposite. The wound, not the healing. The despair, not the comfort. The tear, not the laugh. Remembering the warmness of his hands and the cool touch of the remedy always brought her to that quiet night, to the sound of his hand patting his own thigh and establishing, without knowing, a routine that every night after that repeated itself. Carefully, almost in a juvenile way, he started, night by night, to rest his arm around hers, sometimes over her shoulder, other time around her waist. His hand would lay there, discreet, uncommittedly, but so close that her heart would always skip a beat when she felt it.

Jamie’s laid-back behavior never seemed to hide a second intention. If he touched her to cover them both with his cape, or tucked her in with it at night, or held her waist to help her off the horse, it never felt loaded. This life was different. Almost diametrically opposed to what she had known. And in a few days, her reluctancy to touch was lower and lower. It felt natural, just as it felt natural to rest her head against his chest, or his lap while sleeping.

Jamie might be the silent type, but he had learned that being this way allowed him to observe more than the rest. To absorb other’s gestures and demeanors. To really perceive the meaning before a hand laid softly on a shoulder, or a smirk drawn while they thought no one was looking. Claire wasn’t use to physical closeness. Of course, she could clean a wound and apply a bandage without batting an eye, but the small gestures completely dismantled her. He noticed her wincing whenever he moved without her expecting it, or the unwillingness to help her get on the horse, or stand up after collecting her plants. So he used the same strategy he used when breaking a wild frightened mare.

His movements became slower and more predictable. He would always made sure his presence was acknowledge. He learnt to handle her with care, but firmly. And in return, Claire started to walk on a path that was more trusting, less prone to distress and jolt. Acceptance began to overtake her hesitancy, and a strange, frail bond formed between them on those traveling days.

One morning, right before they would open the saddlebags rummaging for something to eat for their precarious lunch, an impressive castle rose in the faraway. Solid rocks erect as a magnificent lookout crowned over the construction, designed to resist siege both from men and weather. It was the first building they had seen since the ambush, and Claire left Jamie’s comfortable chest to straighten up on the saddle.

“Aye, Sassenach. That’s where we’re goin’. Castle Leoch.“


	6. The promise

Claire’s heart skipped a beat and started thumping furiously against her chest, making her cheeks flushed and her breath shallow. Right after Jamie helped her off the horse, Dougal had taken her by the elbow, his fingers digging painfully in the skin. She could hear Jamie’s objection but Dougal’s strides didn’t slow down.

“Ye fooled that gypit but I am no bairn,” he hissed between his teeth while driving her violently through the halls of Castle Leoch. “Now, my brither will hear yer explanations about who ye really are. And trust me, he is no bairn aither.”

She knew there was nothing left to say. Dougal had never believed her, even though she had kept her lie as close to reality as she possibly could, in order to be coherent. But Dougal’s eye was keen, and he knew there was something she wasn’t telling. Just as a hound that picked a scent, he wasn’t going to let go any time soon.

Without knocking on the door, he opened it to reveal a large study. What she could gather from a quick look around, it was a cozy space. A fire burnt in the stone hearth, surrounded by tall bookcases of thick, dark wood. The place smelled of smoke, parchment and… something else. Was it bay leave? That fragrance confused her momentarily until the man who sat behind the oak desk stood up, relying heavily on a thick cane beautifully carved with a silver handle.

Claire had to restrain a grimace when the man went around the desk to sit in a padded armchair in front of the fire. His legs were terribly arched, and his pace was slow and precarious. But every other move and gesture carried dignity, calmness and elegance. He sat, exhaling, not looking at them not even once, and lifted his legs to rest on a settee.

Dougal had stopped on his tracks after trespassing the threshold, suddenly realizing his intrusion. It was as if they had entered a sanctuary where they weren’t welcomed, and the atmosphere tensed with every second that passed. The highlander opened his mouth to speak but a gesture of the other man’s hand silenced him at once.

“Brither, I ken ye’re fauchelt after yer travels, but this isna way to pay homage to yer laird.” His voice wasn’t too deep, but it had a nice ring to it, rich and with an even thicker accent than Dougal.

“Ye’ll have to forgie me, but this urgent.” What? Dougal… apologizing? Who was this man that this ruthless warrior was, so to speak, bending the knee before him?

“Urgent? Elaborate, please.” HIs eyes turned to Claire for the first time, and she felt his intensity. They had a very similar tone as Jamie’s, but with more hints of grey. “Please, forgie my brither. He’s nothing if no’ diligent. Tell me, please, how did ye get to be our guest? Is that what Dougal here is trying to explain?”

Claire tentatively removed her elbow from Dougal’s grip and stepped towards the man on the armchair. She made an elegant bow and held her hands together, to keep them from trembling.

“Yes, sir. My caravan got… assaulted by Dougal and his men. They captured me and brought me here, not telling me why or what I should to gain my freedom back.” Her voice shook a little, but it was understandable, given the circumstances, and hoped that man, that… laird?, wouldn’t put it down to her lying.

He and Dougal exchanged knowing looks, and the latter nodded curtly.

“Apparently, my brither disna ken why ye were in that caravan, and that’s why he’s troubled.“

“He _does_ know. I told him, and I’m telling you now as well. I’m a healer. I work for Captain Randall and he sent me back to Fort William for the winter. He was supposed to come along, but he finally decided against it and sent me on my own.”

“Then why the protection of the soldiers? Why the escort?” Dougal inquired before the eyes of his brother forced him to silence.

“Though rude, that is a fair question indeed.”

Claire’s neck felt suddenly flushed and her spine, about to melt into a small puddle on the floor. She was in all over her head, and probably her life depended on her next answer. So she opted, again, for certain intrepidity.

“I am the only healer in Fort William. I can only assume Captain Randall wouldn’t want his soldiers deprived of health care for the next months, especially when snows make traveling so difficult, and getting another healer in time for any emergency could be impossible.”

Silence fell over the three of them. The man prepared his cane and stood up painfully. _That’s why it smelled of bay leaf…_

“You’re legs hurt, my lord, but bay leaf won’t help you. Arnica is a much better choice. It will keep your muscles from swelling up. Am I right to assume your lower back is troubling you? That’s where you should focus your efforts. Some magnolia-bark applied directly to the zone, and blue snakeweed tea in the evenings could help you with it. ”

He stopped, supported by his cane, and staring at her intently.

“That’s not what my physician recommended…“

“… and that’s why you still hurt. It won’t cure you, but if you follow this treatment you should feel much better.” She pointed out. Silence filled the room again. Claire held his gaze, trying to guess if she had won her life back, at least in some capacity. The non-committed smile that appeared in the man’s lips answered her doubts.

“Forgie me for not introducing myself. My name is Collum MacKenzie. And ye’re a guest of clan MacKenzie in Castle Leoch. For now.”

 

* * *

 

Claire let herself fall on the bed with a loud sigh. The relief she felt when Collum instructed one of his servants to escort her to her new bedchamber started to recede and a pulsating pressure grew in her chest, rising to her throat and filling her eyes with tears. Tears that slid hot, wet by her temples and into her hair. A sob escaped her lips, and suddenly, all the tension she had managed to shrink and bury deep in her heart during the last few days overflew into a hoarse cry.

What was going to happen to her? Did Fort William know by now that she wasn’t arriving anytime soon? Did Randall? All her breath escaped her in a sob when his name crossed her mind. If there was anything sure in all that ordeal, was that Randall wasn’t going to let them steal anything that was his. And there was no doubt to it. She _belonged_ to Randall, and sooner or later he would claim her back.

That feeling completely overwhelmed her in a way she wasn’t expecting. Her heart started pounding rapidly and her breathing became erratic. A sudden knock on her door made her jolt and dizziness took over, making her trip and fall inevitably on the ground with a loud thud.

“Sassenach? Sassenach!”

A familiar voice came dimly through the wood, followed promptly for the sound of the knob turned and the steps of that tall redheaded highlander stomping in the room. He almost fell to his knees and his warm hands held her shoulders, shaking her slightly.

“Sassenach, are ye fine? What happened? Can ye stand?”

Her eyes were absent, looking into nothing, while her whole body trembled with despair. Jamie decided against his more patient side and pulled her into his arms, lifting her and lowering her carefully on the bed.

“Wait here.” _Well, not that she’s gaun anywhere, ye bawheid_.

He filled a basin with some water from the pitcher and soaked a piece of cloth in it, strained it and came back to her side in two strides. Carefully, Jamie moistened Claire’s face with soft taps, while whispering the same words in gaelic he used to care for his horses when hurt or scared.

“Hush there, Sassenach,” he whispered quietly. Claire’s hand raised from her body and Jamie held it firmly, surrounding her palm with his fingers and caressing it slowly. “Braith, braith with me, slowly, lass, ye’re gaun to drown in yer own air.” Her eyes darted to his and he put her hand on his chest, letting her feel his deep, calm breathing.

Terror gave up its prey and Claire was able to inhale and exhale more peacefully every minute, until she regained control of herself. Gently, Jamie dried her tears with the palm of his hand, and she closed her eyes to the touch. Years had passed since she last felt comfort of any type. When Randall’s real personality emerged and her life became a shadow of what it once was, a dark, bleeding, painful and mortifying shadow, she realized hope was unaffordable.

“Aye, Sassenach, ye’re fine.” Jamie’s brow furrowed, and his head tilted forward. His tone, apologetical, was no more than a whisper. “I’m sairie Dougal took ye. Here I’m… My voice isn the most heard, let’s put it that way. What did Collum say to ye?”

Claire opened her eyes and drank his concern. It was honest, authentic. Not asking for anything in return. Not a game to gain her trust, only to laugh at her later. She sat down against the pillows and sighed. Her voice was hoarse.

“I’m not sure. He told me I’m the clan’s guest, but only for now. I can only assume this will be a temporary position.” But the dread she had been drowning in since she left Collum’s study dissolved itself when she realized Jamie’s smirk and the relief his face showed.

“Ye dinna ken what that means, do you?” Claire shook her head. “Means that for now, ye’re under the protection of the laird. Collum, that is. No one can hurt ye without answering to him and trust me, nobody in this castle would want to face his anger. Ye’re safe.” Jamie followed his words reassuringly squeezing her hand, but Claire’s eyes wandered aimlessly.

“There’s not such thing as _safe_. He…" Her voice was so low Jamie had to come closer to understand what she was saying."He will come for me. He’s probably looking for you already and the minute he learns where I am and the part you had in my disappearance… No, there’s no such thing as safe.”

Jamie clenched his jaw while taking in her words. His eyes squinted looking at her, trying to decipher what caused her to speak that way. He had decided to trust her. Not that he had had much of a choice. But he didn’t feel the need to question her until she gave him reason to. Now, the certainty that she was hiding something finally hit him.

“Claire.” It was the first time he called her name, and it instantly drew her gaze towards him. “Ye’re talking about Randall, arna you?”

They stared into each other’s eyes, as survivors of something they didn’t even know they were. Slowly, Claire nodded.

“For all I ken, he can come and try to get ye. If ye dinna want to go wit’ him, that’s all there is to it. Is it what ye want? To stay here?”

The look of hopelessness in her eyes stabbed him like a dirk in the guts. He had to restrain himself from holding here there and then, ease her into his arms and whisper softly that nothing was going to happen to her. Tears filled her eyes, and after what seemed an eternity, she cautiously nodded.

“Then stay here you shall. I give ye my word, Sassenach.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is going slow, but the circumstances are not the best for these two. Nonetheless, is almost impossible to resist Jamie's charm...


	7. Cranesmuir

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is a long one. Hope you enjoy :)

Claire knew Jamie had given her status as a prisoner some appearance of choice and willingness. But she had realized, while lying on that bed for the first time in over a week, with her hand tightly pressed against his chest and her tears drying before being born, that being a prisoner there was a much better choice tan to be Randall’s. She had to chuckle when she reached that conclusion, combing her hair that night before going to sleep.

At first, her nodding had caught her completely off guard. She was unconsciously choosing a life among barbarians and outlaws instead of returning to the _safety_ of her fiancé and a life with her own. But who were her own? She had no family left, no friends, nothing. She had lived the last two years under the Duke of Sandringham protection, or so to speak. There was something between Randall and the Duke, some kind of agreement that materialized in her being able to stay in his estate while he had to fulfill any obligation with the army. It also gave their status the modesty needed, at least on the outside. Because what she had had to endure since her uncle Lamb passed away, that was something she wasn’t expecting at all.

And now… Well, now Claire felt Castle Leoch as a safe haven. She bit her lip and shook her head while working on a particularly stubborn knot. No, that was a lie. It wasn’t the sturdiness of those walls. It was (and with that thought, a flash of heat flew to her cheeks) the soundness of that highlander that had acted as both her captor and her protector since the day of the ambush. A strange routine had formed between them. At first she had been wary of him, as she had been of all of the men in that group, but his consistency in treating her had made them form a bond that, even frail as it was, still existed.

Jamie had stayed with her until she felt strong enough to walk again without hitting the floor with her head. She had to reassure him she would send for him in case she needed his presence again, and his stubbornness made her promise so much.

_Then stay here you shall. I give ye my word, Sassenach._

Those words kept echoing in her head, covering her in a warm feeling. And a small, brittle sprout began to grow. It was something she hadn’t felt in such a long time at first she didn’t recognize it. It was a tremulous bud of hope, and its roots were deeply set in him. In Jamie. For some reason she still couldn’t pinpoint, he had became the beacon of this new confidence, of the possibility to escape Randall’s tentacles and disappear from his life, if only to start a new path were she was nothing more than a healer and the scars in her mind and body, a long passed ill memory that wouldn’t hurt her anymore.

Claire fit in the daily activities of the castle like a needed piece in a finely oiled gear. The last physician had recently passed away because of consumption and his chambers in the basement of the castle were vacant. Mrs. Fitzgibbons, a charming old lady that basically run the castle, escorted her to them and showed her around.

“The laird tald me that this is yers for the taking. I’ll send a lass to clean it up, dinna fash.” She patted Claire’s arm fondly and climbed back up the stairs.

Claire stood there, in the middle of the room, letting it all sink. Clearly it could use some cleaning, and after a more intensive research, she saw that a lot of the ointments and preparations were moldy or directly rotten. Her nose got so burnt after a few sniffs that she left the room with a piece of paper and a quill under her arm and sat outside by the orchard to let the icy air of the morning wipe the feeling away.

That dispensary definitely needed replenishing. She wrote down a list of the herbs, plants and roots it would need, and in a separate piece of parchment, the products she could use to preserved them. With both of them ready, first she went to the kitchen to look for Mrs. Fitzgibbons and ask her where she could find the second list. She looked at it slightly furrowing and then back at Claire.

“Here ye willna find any of these, save the most basic. Lard and those. Ye’ll have to go to Cranesmuir, maybe there… Oh Jamie, lad, come here a second.”

Claire’s face lit up when she saw the broad highlander entering the kitchens… at least until she smelled her boots and wrinkled her nose, in a gesture Mrs Fitzgibbons also mimicked. Their squeamishness was welcome with a wide smile of his generous lips.

“Ach, ladies, ye dinna like the smell of manure in the morning?”

“Jamie lad, who do ye think could provide Claire here with these things in Cranesmuir?”

Jamie reached for the list and read it carefully. While he was going through the items and thinking about where to find them, Claire looked at him and nonchalantly grabbed a straw stuck in his curls. He could feel his ears starting to burn and his eyes pierced Claire’s for a second, before turning to Mrs. Fitzgibbons, who watched the scene with a knowing smile.

“Mmm… Probably Geillis Duncan. With no apothecary, she’s the closest thing you’ll find. Why, Sassenach?”

“I’m going to take over the physician’s duties while I’m here and his supplies are a bit… out of date.” She unconsciously rubbed her nose.

“Well, ye’ll have to go there then. I can escort ye, but it’ll have to be later on the day. For now the horses need all my attention.”

“Oh no, Jamie, there’s no need to…” Claire made a dismissive gesture with her hand and felt her entire body’s temperature raise when he grabbed her elbow and closed the distance between them to whisper in her ear.

“Actually, there is. Even though ye’re a guest here, I dinna think Collum wad be delighted to have ye running around on yer own. So better anticipate.” His breath felt warm against the exposed skin of her ear, and for once, Claire was thankful to wear long sleeves to cover the goosebumps that it gave her. “I’ll come get ye later, dinna fash.”

Despite Mrs. Fitzgibbons protests, Claire decided it would be better to keep a low profile and have lunch in the kitchens with the other workers of the castle. There were a few sideway looks, but nothing too obvious that could cause her discomfort. Her skin had grown thicker than she thought, and she answered the furrowed and arched brows with a disarming polite smile. By the time she was finishing the aromatic stew (and complimenting Mrs. Fitz, as she insisted on being called, by her masterful use of herbs), Jamie appeared in the kitchen with his usual long stride.

“Sassenach, ye dinna need to eat down here, ye ken?” Claire couldn’t help to notice he had a fresh shirt on and his boots were manure-free.

“That’s precisely what I told her, but she’s thick as a mule.” The scolding tone of Mrs. Fitz made her smile and she returned her empty bowl back to her.

“It was delicious, Mrs. Fitz.“

“Aye, aye… Let’s go before sun sets,“ Jamie said grabbing her arm and softly pulling her from her chair.

“Jamie Fraser, ye have the manners of a cuddie. Leave before I tell this fine lass about the time the boys stole yer clothes while ye were in the stream…”

“No need, Mrs. Fitz, no need at all.“ His tone suddenly apologetic and his cheeks, blushing fiercely. One of the men sitting at the table bursted laughing and clapped on it.

“Aye! I remember that, ’twas so cold his cock almost snapped!”

Suddenly, they were leaving in a whirlwind of laughter (Claire couldn't resist to contribute to it) and clapping behind them and a seriously flushed highlander leading their steps out of the kitchens, mumbling what sounded like a gaelic curse under his breath.

“I spend here most of the time,” he said when they finally got to the stables. His long legs almost made Claire run, but when they left the main building behind, his pace was slower and they reached the barn in a quiet stroll.

Claire let her eyes wander around. Him being comfortable in that place spoke a lot about his personality. Despite the growing cold outside, the stable was a warm space. It smelled of fresh hay and horse sweat, with a sweet sting to it. Jamie was welcomed by a few neighs from the different stalls, as his hand patted the snouts that leaned out. That almost imperceptible tension on his shoulders disappeared, as if whatever kept him in a constant state of alert didn’t matter there. He moved around gracefully, getting ready two of the horses.

“You really like it here,” Claire couldn’t help to say in a low voice, almost to herself.

“Aye. Everything is easier here.” He answered without looking back at her, finishing his maneuvers with the animals.

Jaime’s hands were quickly on her waist, propelling her up on her horse almost without effort and leaving her breathless. As casual as their physical contact always seemed, strictly limited to what was socially acceptable ( _Well, I could actually ride my own horse without him throwing me in the air_ ), Claire was still struggling to get used to it. Not because she felt discomfort; that phase had been early on and already moved forward. No, it was the expectation it always raised in her chest, like watching the waves crash on the sand, against the rocks. You could tell the next one was coming, and still, the clash against the hard surface of the stone still was an amazing force of nature.

They rode in quiet company under one of those rare sunny skies that graze the beginning of the fall season. Claire closed her eyes, delighting in the warm light. It wasn’t long before they arrived to Cranesmuir, and Jaime got off the horse, pulling the reigns gently and entering the village. She did as well, following his lead into the small streets that converged in a slightly bigger square.

“Geillis Duncan lives there,” Jamie pointed with his head towards one of the bigger houses of the square. There was something indiscernible in his tone, used as he was to mask and control how his thoughts breathed into his acts and words. “I have to run an errand, Sassenach, then I’ll wait for ye here.”

And without a single word, he turned around, tied his horse to a post and got lost in one of the alleys. Claire stood there flabbergasted for a minute, looking around. Why Jamie wouldn’t go with her in this last part of their trip, she couldn’t figure it out. Maybe this woman and he…? She shook her head before resuming her steps and getting to the front door. If Jamie and this Geillis had something, it wasn’t any of her business. She knocked a little bit harder than she intended.

“Aye?” A wench answered, blocking the entrance with her plump body.

“Good afternoon. My name is Claire… Claire,” she repeated flushing. She had made a point of not saying her last name, in case anybody could relate her to Captain Randall, but she was feeling rather absurd introducing herself in such manner. “I’m looking for Mistress Duncan.”

“Aye… Wait a moment, mistress.” Her English accent was clearly not helping her gaining the trust of this maid, and when she turned around to look for the lady of the house, she closed the door unceremoniously.

In less than a minute, another woman appeared in the threshold. Claire was absentminded while waiting, and the sudden bright green eyes that fixated on hers surprised her. She blinked as to go back to reality, and made a small bow.

“Good afternoon, Mistress Duncan?”

“It’s actually Mrs. Duncan. Come inside, how can I help ye?”

Claire entered the house and the smell of different herbs filled her nostrils, making her rub her nose.

“I need some supplies I was told you can provide me with?” She asked tentatively.

“That depends on what ye’re leuking for”. Her voice was melodious, and the Scottish accent danced pleasantly on her words.

“Here you are,” Claire handed over her list. “Basic things, most of them.”

After reading carefully with a knowing smile on her lips, Geillis looked back at her. “I have most of these, aye. Ye’re no amateur, arna ye? What’s yer trade?” Geillis asked after returning the list and starting to prepare the different items.

“I’m a healer, yes. I heard Leoch’s physician passed away recently and his supplies were… Well, most of them were spoiled…”

“They were too when he was alive and kickin’. Never thought much of him. Collum seemed to trust him but, to be honest, he didna have much of a wale.” Her bright green eyes, like shining emeralds, smiled at her. “Jist like ye. Dinna need to be a witch to ken ye’re between a rock and a verra hard place.”

“A witch?” Claire repeated skeptical.

“Aye. If ye hinna heard it yet ye must’ve been here eneugh.” Being a witch was one of the worst accusations a woman could face, but Geillis never lost the playful smile from her lips, and Claire couldn’t stop producing one of her own.

“No, actually I’ve been here just a couple of days.“

“Next time ye come to see me ye’ll tell me what’s a sassenach doin’ in the middle of Scots.” While talking, Geillis had efficiently prepared almost every single item in Claire’s list and handed a basket with them, perfectly wrapped to keep the vials from crashing. She took it with an appreciative nod and headed to the door. Geillis’ voice bid her farewell.

“Bye, Claire Claire.”

 

* * *

 

Jamie was waiting by the horses, tapping his fingers against the saddle and seemed to significantly relax when he saw her back. He hadn't really run any errand, but there was something that made him feel unease whenever he was close to Geillis. So when Claire entered the house, he went back to the horses and waited leaned against the post. The moment she entered his line of sight, he unleashed the reigns and grabbed them to meet her halfway.

“Got everything ye needed?” Claire noticed he was uncomfortable for some reason, but couldn’t figure it out. She nodded after securing her basket on the side of the horse, and Jamie’s hands ushered her on the saddle. “Guid. No need to be here anytime langer.”

They made it for the castle, and Jamie’s last words finally sank in.

“You didn’t come inside because you think she’s a witch, isn’t it?” She asked repressing a smile. Jamie’s back shivered slightly. “You know, usually when a woman has some kind of knowledge other men don’t, accusing her of being a witch isn’t unheard of. But Geillis didn’t strike me as the kind of person who would dance in the middle of the night during solstice after sacrificing a lamb and a cock.”

Her tone was so light, for the first time since they had met, that Jamie couldn’t help but chuckle and follow her lead.

“I ken, but even though I didna think she’s a witch, I have no intention of crossing her. She has all my respect… from a safe distance.”

The ride back was more distended, as the sun started to get lower on the sky, bringing an almost orange light over the trees and between the leaves. Even though green was the color that pulsed through Scotland's veins, the fall hues had started to lay down its cloak over the country. The meandering hills eased the sight, their curves turning to gold in the sunset. The wind was getting a bit chilly, and Jamie looked over his shoulder to keep an eye on Claire, but apparently, she was enjoying the change of temperature. Her own eyes were closed, as she was trying to suck in everything her other senses were perceiving. In that light, her hair had turned from brown to almost auburn, and her soft curls almost looked as carved in mahogany.

The castle emerged before them and Jamie had to drown a sound of discontent, putting his eyes back on the road. Still in silence, they headed for the stables with the last light of the day. In a comfortable companionship, Jamie and Claire unloaded the horses and set the tacks aside.

Suddenly, the calmness of the place broke in a million pieces. What sounded like a runaway horse bursted in the stables, followed suit by two boys who were trying to get hold of the reigns. But the hooves of the beast kept them at bay, its nostrils dilated and his eyes wide opened in panic. Jamie run right passed her the second the horse set its running path in her direction. Instinctively, he put himself between the animal and Claire, only to push her aside when the hooves of the animal, up in the air, descended upon him.

Claire swore later she could hear the creak. It all happened too fast, especially being thrown to the ground to avoid being trampled on by a crazy horse. But when she looked up from the hay covered floor, she saw Jamie grabbing tightly the bridle with his left hand, his right arm lying tightly close to the body.

“Ye fools, Donas isn supposed to be running around with any of ye. Why did ye take him?” He was panting and his tone, and a hint of pain lay beneath the surface of apparent anger.

“Hamish wanted to ride it, sir…” One of the stable boys approached frightened but Claire wasn’t sure if he was scared of the horse or of Jamie’s dark expression. “We tald him but…”

“Aye, aye. Just put him back in there and leave him be.”

The boys nodded rapidly a few times and drove Donas, who was quiet now, back into his own stall.

“Ye fine, Sassenach?” Jamie helped her back on her feet with his left hand and a wince of pain in his pursed lips.

“I am, but you just got kicked by a horse, let me…”

“Dinna fash, just a little dawt—” He started to turn around to stay out of her keen eye and reach, but to no avail.

“Jesus, Jaime, your shoulder!”

The bone that was supposed to be fitted on top of his arm was protruding grotesquely out, even under the shirt.

“Wasn’t his fault. Donas isna used to be ridden by bairns,” he claimed defending the horse.

_Seriously?_

Claire gave him her best admonishing look and he stopped squirming out of her reach, sitting down with an exasperated sigh on a small wooden stool. She kneeled beside him and palpated the place, only to be received by a hiss of pain he was trying to swallow, to no avail.

“Jamie, I need you to take off your shirt. I think you dislocated your shoulder.“

His eyes stared into hers for a second before trying to get it out by himself, but even the slightest move felt like million needles stabbing him at the same time. Claire noticed and after silently asking permission and being answered by a curt nod, she pulled the hem of his shirt slowly, first the left arm, then the head, and finally the right arm. The trace of the hoof was clearly visible on his pale skin, and it would leave an awful purple bruise on him for the next few days.

She resumed palpating the injury. It was clear that the bone was out of socket and she knew how bad it hurt. Her eyes looked for Jamie’s before going any further.

“I need to pop it back into place, but you won’t like it. Trust me, the first part is the worse. You’ll feel much better in a few seconds. Ready?“

Jamie inhaled soundly and nodded, closing his eyes. Claire was right. The first movements turned his stomach and he had to claim all the strength in his body not to vomit in front of her. But suddenly, a dull sound came from her ministrations and the pain started to recede almost immediately. He couldn’t help the look of astonishment followed by gratitude that overrun his fair features.

“Better?” She smiled.

“Aye! It almost dinna hurt.”

“It will. I’ll get you something for the pain, and you shouldn’t move your arm for a few days. Is there anything we can use as sling?”

They looked around. Yes, there were leather reins, but too rough for the skin. Jamie was about to suggest her to use his shirt when she saw her ripping her underskirt.

“This will do, at least until Mrs. Fitz lends me some linen for bandages. Don’t move…”

She stood up, leaning towards him, and was about to start dressing his shoulder when she saw it. He could tell, by the sudden gasp of air that she took in, she had noticed, but didn’t expect the delicate touch of her fingertips tracing his back.

Claire’s eyes snapped in horrid astonishment. His otherwise soft, pallid skin, was marked in what seemed to had been an awful, gruesome punishment. The flogging had left deep scars all over his back, crossed in the most unimaginable ways. It was no usual beating. She could tell the cruelty, the sadism behind every single lashing. She wondered in awe how he could’ve resisted something as brutal as that.

“Randall did it,” he mumbled as if he had read her mind. “Two flogging in less than a week. He wad’a flogged twice in the same day, but I assume there’s no pleasure in flogging a dead man.” A snide came along with his last words, as Claire resumed his task and surrounded his waist timidly with her arms to secure the sling to his torso. She closed her eyes, but all she could see behind her eyelids was the scars, their pattern against the tender skin. Unconsciously, her hand landed lightly on his left shoulder. If anything, she knew about pain. And probably, even healed and years old, those scars still felt tight and sore. An infinite reminder of another human being's viciousness. 

_No. Not a human being. A monster._

Her voice almost didn't leave her throat as she started to head back to the castle.

“There is… Come. Come with me.”


	8. The scars

Jamie followed her first with his eyes, arching an eyebrow and wondering what she had in mind. But when she left the stables, wrapping herself in the wool cape to fight the cold air of the evening, he hurried up to throw on his shirt and follow her, wherever she intended to go. It was cold indeed, he thought as his pace synchronized with hers. The chilly breeze that beat the bushes with a soothing sound made him shiver. It was tempting to ask her about their future whereabouts, but something in her stance, her arms crossed tightly against her chest while holding the small basket she carried from the village, and her eyes focused on the dirt road leading back to the castle, made him thing twice and keep his mouth shut.

She doubted for a second, as if trying to remember which way to got, but chose quickly and Jamie saw themselves taking the stairs down to the basement. The castle was reverberating with the dinner noises, the pots and pans clashing in the kitchens, the benches and tables being dragged around the big hall to accommodate every resident, and probably the bigger table for the MacKenzie family in front of all the rest.

But down there it was another world. A smaller, more private world. Claire opened the door leading to the physician’s former room, and stood there for a second. Clearly Mrs. Fitz had been busy.Dust and spiderwebs were gone. All the vials and containers, cleaned and organized on the main table, ready to be filled and classified. The tools were immaculate and set aside on the shelves, and a few thick candles were ready to illuminate the place. She couldn’t help a smile before entering and lighting one of them, creating a warm, welcoming flame.

“Sit here, please,“ she demanded. A small wooden stool was near the table, and Jamie obliged quietly, though a bit concerned about what was going to happen next. He wasn’t precisely apprehensive, but the pain in his shoulder was starting to send stabs through his arm and he wasn’t looking forward to another session of bone fitting.

Again, his eyes felt completely attached to her every move. There was something in the way she conducted herself that exuded confidence, instead of the wariness she usually had around other people. She was carefully selecting the leaves of an orange flower, saving the rest of it for another use. Using the pestle and mortar, she crashed them into a pulp before adding the result to a small bowl, where she mixed it with a viscous liquid vigorously. She smelled it from time to time until she managed to give it the perfect consistence. The scent got to Jamie, who inhale it pleasantly.

_At least it is no hanged-men’s grease._

Then, for the first time, as if she had been all alone for those brief moments, Claire’s eyes set on him. Her cheeks were flushed, probably because of the effort of the mortar and the cold air outside. She grabbed the bowl and stood near him.

“I’m starting to worry about what you might think of me, but I need you to remove your shirt. _Again_.”

Jamie thought about teasing her about her sudden need to see him half naked, but there was something in her gaze, a mix of embarrassment, empathy and… _Is it sadness?_ , that stopped his tongue and made his hands obey her will. His shirt dropped on the floor once again and the temperature, without a fire in the hearth, gave him gooseflesh.

Claire was standing by his side, trying not to look to indiscreetly at the beautifully build highlander whose curls glowed golden in the candle’s light. With a airy noise, the shirt fell to her feet and she stepped over it not to stain it with the mud on her shoes. Slowly, trying not to disturb him, she positioned at his back and untied the sling, pushing the linen aside. Then, she dipped her fingers in the ointment she had just produced. It was cold to the touch, as her hands were, and she rubbed it on them in order to instill them some warmth.

The atmosphere was charged. She could feel his back, the terrible scars on it, tensed up in anticipation. His hands, usually moving around and incredibly expressive, were held together tightly. Having his back being stared at was something he was used to since the flogging. Damn, it was performed with an audience, how couldn’t he be? But there was a part inside of him that was profoundly ashamed of it, of having to wear them like a badge of dishonor, forever marked on his skin.

The touch of her hands yanked him off his tribulations. They were a bit cold but soft and slippery. She was applying the lotion on his skin with a delicate touch. There was nothing in it that could be interpreted as rejection, quite the opposite. She touched them without eluding any single one of them. He felt her kneel behind him to be able to reach every part of the skin, and the soothing caress made him lower his head, sighing, groaning in pleasure and finally relaxing.

“Ach, Sassenach, this feels…”

She hushed under her breath, and Jamie got the hint. Silently, Claire massaged his back, working on the deeper scars carved in the muscle, easing the soreness away with an expert hand. The seconds turned to minutes, and when the skin felt dry to the touch, she patted him gently before tying the sling back.

“This is calendula. It should help you with the tightness…” Her words got lost in the sudden touch. Jamie grabbed her wrist, his head still lowered against his chest, those golden, auburn curls obscuring his eyes. He inhaled deeply before allowing himself to look her in the eye. Claire gasped, taken aback by the intensity of his stare. There was something, something new in his face, something authentic, unrestrained, something intimate.

“Thank you. _Claire_.” She shook her head clumsily, before bending over to grab his shirt and helping him put it back on.

Jamie felt the sudden need to rush out of that room. She was the first person who had touched his scars since he got them taken care of after the flogging, and the shame, after the brief moment of peace, washed over him like a wave in an ill-tempered storm. His stomach fought against the need to run, the recent memory of her touch, the way her skirt grazed him when she moved around him, the feeling of her arms around his waist tying the sling. He rigidly stood up, almost throwing the stool in the process, and headed in a couple of strides towards the door.

But as he was about to leave, Jamie realized what had been bothering in the back of his mind, and stopped right on his tracks. Still facing the door, his words left his throat in a hoarse tone.

“I ken ye’re a healer. But no one, not even the physician that tended to me at Fort William after the flogging, cared about how the scars wad feel in the future.”

Claire froze. She had started to tidy the place and return every tool back to its place when his voice made her blood turn to water. There was something about Jamie that made her almost impossible to lie to him. Saving her from Dougal’s more forceful ways, he had earned not only her respect, but also a sense of debt that entitled him to sincerity. Or at least, as much of it as she could allow herself to give without breaking her alibi.

The silence that followed his sentence made him turn around, slowly. It broke his heart to see her so vulnerable, as if he had uncovered a shameful secret he wasn’t consented to do. The apology was already taking shape in his lips when Claire turned her back to him. She untied the belt that secured her shawl and settled both pieces on the table. Her hand pulled her long, curly hair over one shoulder, uncovering the skin on top of her back.

It was Jamie’s turn to feel his heart sink to the ground. Above the hem of the dress that showed her shoulder blades, a few small, pink scars emerged. Not being able to see them properly, he unconsciously stepped closer to her, and his jaw clenched instantly. His fingers, as if obeying their own mind, run over the little marks with a feathery touch. He saw the skin shivering, and his hand dropped at the same moment.

“No. Do it. See.“

It came as a whisper, so low Jamie wondered for a second if he had heard correctly. Giving her enough time to pull back, his fingers intertwined with the laces that held her stays in place, and untied them in a mortifyingly slow way. When they were free, Jamie pulled each side of the fabric apart until it hung from her shoulders, leaving the back only covered by the almost translucent clothing of the shift.

Her right side was almost as cruelly mistreated as his back. His fingers went back on it, feeling the deep scars over the fabric. They were only a few of them, but the depth of the tissue made him realize they had been inflicted with as much hate as he had gotten his. His fingers became his whole hand, and the heat of his palm made her sigh. He didn’t need to ask. Jamie knew only one person capable of doing such a harm to a woman.

The wave of anger and rage that suddenly coerced him rendered him speechless. His hand dropped by his side, aching for the loss of contact, and without a single word he run upstairs in a cloud of curls, white cotton and plaid wool.

 

* * *

 

Jamie climbed the stairs two at a time and left the castle, running until his lungs burnt and his feet got stuck in the mud of the nearby stream. He had taken his punishment like a man, even though he was barely a lad when Randall got his hands on him. If he closed his eyes, he could still feel the lash of the whip against the tender flesh, remember the knees turning to water, unable to hold him any longer. He hadn’t screamed. Not a single howl. Nothing more than a grunt with every ram. He knew that Randall wanted him to, and that’s what gave him strength to endure it.

But he couldn’t stand the sight of her wounds. Knowing what she had been through. The pain of the flesh tearing apart, the inner rapture that caused being mercilessly attacked, deflowered. That soft, pale skin, disgraced by the brutality of an individual who barely fit as an animal.

_Animals arna this brutal._

Tears began to flow, for the first time in a long time, powerless to detain them from falling on his shirt. It was the fury what caused them. The helplessness, the frustration, the inability to avoid her that suffering he wouldn’t wish upon his worst enemy. The sting of pain that his dislocated shoulder sent down his spine grounded him back to reality. What would she think of him? He’d probably had become a constant reminder of her own ordeal. Like heavy rain for a sore joint.

Jamie shook his head. For now on, he’d have to be away from her sight, extract himself from her thoughts, in case she allotted any for him. He wouldn’t be responsible for any ounce of pain he could cause her. No. His mind was made up, and as a true Scot, he wouldn’t yield. A sad smirk slowly lifted the corner of his mouth. He’d stay out of her way, for sure. But still, she was, and would always be, under his protection. And that was a vow he wasn’t willing to break anytime soon.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The next few days, Claire would remember them as living in a haze. Her feelings had been terribly damaged when Jamie had run out of her consult, and she had covered herself back with her clothes with shame and completely embarrassed. She refused to cry, though the lump in her throat made it almost impossible. She wandered around the castle, collecting herbs, preparing ointments and lotions, preserving her plants or desiccating them to grind them afterwards.

The mechanics of the routine helped her through those days. Jamie was missing, and dearly missed. Once in a while she would caught a glimpse of red hair with the corner of her eye, or the twirl of his plaid around a corner. But no word came from him, as if he was avoiding her in purpose.

Her demeanor changed abruptly, and she found herself surprised by it. It was as if the sun got overcast by an unpredictable dark cloud that retained every single ray of light. She was inhabiting a darkness she thought she’d be able to emerge from now that Randall was becoming a blurred nightmare. Even the insecurity that still surrounded her situation in Castle Leoch had safer hint than living under the Duke of Sandringham roof… and directly at her fiancé’s disposal.

Jamie would probably think she was a loose woman. Exposing herself to him like that… She didn’t think it would scare him away, but his honor was of too much importance to him to let this go easily. She was devastated. All she did was trying to bond over an experience, a terrible experience they both had shared in different moments of their lives, but that joined them now under its dreadful memory. She wanted to show him that she understood what it was like to be at the mercy of someone who was closer to a demon than to a man; the feelings of absolute despair that clawed in a heart when death seemed too much of a possibility; the cold hand of fear sneaking in guts.

But instead, he had been unable to look past the naked skin and meet her halfway. She looked in the mirror while combing her hair. Five days had passed since that evening, and the hours were longer than they have been under Randall’s command. Collum, apparently, seemed pleased with her services. At least, Mrs. Fitzgibbons had said so, with a fond smile and a pat in the arm. She had been preparing the teas Claire recommended for Collum’s condition, and the laird was experiencing a timid recovery.

Sighing resignedly, she blew off the candle and tuck herself under the covers for the night.

 

* * *

 

A hand pressed firmly against her mouth. It wasn’t the sensation what brought her eyes to snap open. It was the smell. _Lavender_. It filled her nostrils and made her gag in panic. With the dim light of the midnight, she saw him. His long face, his high cheekbones, the brown straight hair perfectly gathered in the back of his head, those almost black eyes, twitching slowly anticipating her fear and delighting in it.

He was so close she could feel his breath against her ear when Jack Randall closed the distance between them to whisper.

“My dear, dear Claire. You couldn’t possibly think you would escape my love, my attentions, did you?”

The sickly-sweetness of his voice unhinged every cell of her body. Her hands gripped the sheets with such strength she could feel them tear under her nails. His tongue stuck out, and its tip left a wet trail on the side of her face, down until her neck. It reminded her of the skin of a snake, gloppy and disgusting. He groaned in pleasure.

“My dear Claire, you taste so well… It’s a shame, indeed, that I have to punish you for leaving me. By now you should’ve known: there is no safe, Claire. No escape.”

Her eyes franticly looked for a way out until they saw it. The blade. 10 inches of jagged steel. He pushed the sharp end against her skin and slid it, breaking the tissue, blood slowly beginning to drip from her cheek. It went down on its way without relieving the pressure.

“No. Escape.”

And suddenly Randall raised the dagger and sank it to the handle in her stomach.


	9. The nightmare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so first of all, thank you for keeping up with me this far. I hope you especially enjoy this chapter :)

A blood curling scream yanked Jamie off his sleep inconsiderately. He sat up and tried to listen out for any threat, but all he got was another scream that made his bones tremble. He looked at the door that was right by his side, knowing the sound was coming from there. If he entered, he’d have a lot of explaining to do, but if Claire was yelling like that, there was no time to wonder about repercussions. This train of thought only took about half a second before Jamie pushed the door opened unsheathing his dagger.

Claire was grunting and screaming as if she was being murdered right then and there. Jamie’s eyes, accustomed to the fugitive life, examined the room in a single look to make sure no one had entered without him knowing. A hard enough task, already, he grimly thought. He closed the door and in a swift move, got by the bed, resting one knee upon it before grabbing Claire by the arms, tearing his sling in the process. Her shift was soaked in sweat and her pale skin was even paler at this nightly hour. She was shaking uncontrollably between his hands, and Jamie realized he had no idea what to do next.

He tried to keep her still.

“Claire, Claire, wake up, lass…”

His grip tightened a little bit when his words didn’t produce any effect. Worry started to creep in his stomach. Even though Claire’s bedchamber was far enough from the rest of the castle, screaming in the middle of the night would end up waking someone else up and raising questions. His left hand left her shoulder and went to her face, resting against her damp skin and caressing her cheek. It was cold as a dead body, but the touch made her eyes snap open.

Reality hit him as a ton of bricks. If anyone saw them there and realize they were alone in the middle of her bed, things wouldn’t go well for any of them. So he prayed that Claire didn’t scream when her eyes finally took in his figure and the situation. Her reaction was clearly not what he had been expecting.

After a few seconds, realizing that she was finally awake and that whoever she was dreaming about wasn’t there, Claire launched herself at Jamie’s arms like he was a log in the middle of white water. Her own arms locked securely around his neck and tears began to flow, unable to stop them once they started.

To say he was caught off guard is an understatement. It took him a second to realize she wasn’t trying to throw him off the bed or fight him off, and welcomed her embrace with one of his own. He enclosed her flickering body with his arms, hard despite the pain of his shoulder, just the way he liked to be held when he was a child and woke up from a nightmare. Whispering soft gaelic words into her hair, Jamie could feel her relaxing progressively against the warmth of his chest. One of his hands left the embrace and sailed up to her locks, caressing them softly.

“’Twas just a nightmare, mo nighean donn, just a nightmare.”

Jamie’s voice got to her for the first time in intelligible way. Almost intelligible way, at least. The broadness of his chest was the best haven she had found in longer than she could remember. It was firm but soft, hard but warm, and her head fitted perfectly in that place where neck and shoulder meet. Once terror left her senses, she could smell his scent. A mixture of light sweat, fresh hay and musk. It smelled like home.

When he felt Claire’s stance relaxed, he pulled her away slightly so they could see each other’s faces, even in the shadows. Gently, Jamie pushed her hair aside her face, and wiped the sweat and tears that still grazed her skin with the cuff of his shirt. A shadow descended upon his eyes, furrowing his brow.

“Ye’re trembling, lass. D’ye…” Jamie thanked God it was dark and she couldn’t see his face blushing fiercely. “D’ye have another shift ye can put on? This one is soaking wet…”

Claire nodded, shuddering in the night cold, and pointed to the small chest that contained the few clothes Mrs. Fitzgibbons had been able to gather for her. He felt as a child who had been caught redhanded while looking for the white piece of clothing, and when he finally found it, a low bless escaped his lips.

“Here…”

He handed it to her timidly, and turn around to leave the bedroom and resume his precarious night of sleep. But her clear voice reached him for the first time in almost a week.

“Jamie, wait…”

He stopped right on his tracks, knowing she was changing her shift for the drier one. When the bed cracked again after Claire settled back in, he faced her, crossing his hands on his back to keep them for betraying his nervousness. He felt his heart sink as he focused back on her. She was still shuddering, apparently unable to shake whatever had haunted her that night in her sleep.

In a couple of strides, he was back at her side, throwing back the covers and patting the feather mattress for her to lie down on it. She obliged, her teeth chattering, and he promptly covered her with the blankets, tucking her firmly in. He looked at the hearth, and cursed silently when realized there was no wood or turf to light up a fire. While thinking of a possible solution (maybe he could go to his bedroom and grab some sticks, or perhaps the kitchens…) a hand colder than ice shyly grabbed his wrist and made him look at her.

“Don’t go. Please.“

He felt a knot forming in his guts. There was nothing he would like more than holding her in his arms, whisper in her ear until she fell asleep and waking up with the sun sparkling on her hair. An unwilling sigh left his well formed mouth as he contemplated that scene and thought he wouldn’t mind ending and starting each day in that fashion for the rest of his life.

“Sassenach, if I stay and someone comes in, ye’ll be in trouble. Yer reputation…“

“Please.”

Her pleading tone made him yield. One last look at the door, securely closed, and he slowly took off his boots first, then his shirt.

“Move over,“ he sighed.

He knew he was a furnace. His temperature had always been high, and he could remember those winter nights, back at home, when he and his sister were just children and she would crawl into his bed with those feet, cold as the morning drizzle. Ye’re warm, Jamie, she’d say as an excuse while nestling next to him. When Claire finally made room for him, he slowly lay down before covering them both again with the blankets.

He was a bit stiff. Not knowing what to do, or what she’d want, he just lay there quietly until Claire crawled up to him and curled up against his side. Instinctively, his arm surrounded her shoulder to keep her tight against his skin and caressed her back soothingly. Her own arm settled over his body, holding him close, and a content sigh accompanied her movement. Jamie was starting to doze off as their temperatures became equal, when her soft voice yanked him off back.

“How did you know I was having a… a nightmare?”

And there it was. Once again, Jamie thanked God for the darkness and her not looking at his face. He wasn’t sure that even with the dim light of the room she wouldn’t see his ears becoming a deep shade of red.

“Ach, errr… Dinna… I was juist sleeping outside,” he confessed timidly. “I was worried someone could come and… Dinna ken, do something to ye?” Silence felt between them for a minute, while she processed his words. He stayed alert, in order to detect any movement that could point to her being uncomfortable or to plain rejection, but she was still, her fingers shivering against the skin of his side.

“You’ve been sleeping outside my door on the floor?” She repeated with what he could interpret as a mix of astonishment and (he smiled to himself) a hint of satisfaction. He had to wipe it off his face when she braced herself on her elbow to look him in the eye, and replace it with a more serious brood. “How long?”

“Dinna fash, Sassenach, juist… juist a few nights, that’s it.”

They held each other’s gaze for a while until realization hit her and she began the process of sitting up and leaving the bed, but Jamie didn’t loosened his embrace.

“Your sling, you…”

“Ye can put it back tomorrow. Now, sleep,” he settled as she resumed her position, placing her head against his chest.

“I’m scared to sleep,” Claire whispered with her lips moving against his skin. It took every ounce of restraint in his body to contain a pleasant shivering, and he opted for patting her head fondly.

“I told ye. Ye need not be scairt of me. Nor anyone else here, so long as I'm with ye.”

 

* * *

 

The sun hadn’t rise yet, but light began to flood the room. Before opening her eyes, Claire felt exhausted. It had been a long time since she had nightmares with Randall, but that one had left her drained. She was about to stretch when the rest of her body woke up as well. There was someone in bed with her. Memories of Jamie’s stealing her away from the bad dream and staying with her to keep her warm overrun her mind and made her eyelids shut even harder. She remembered curling up next to him, but as the night went by, they had moved and were now facing each other. She could feel her leg over his, the soft wool of his kilt, his arm around her waist keeping her close to his body, and the magnificent heat that his skin irradiated against hers. Claire could tell how close they were when she realized that the subtle breeze that caressed her face was his deep, quiet breath. The cadence of his chest, moving slowly up and down under her own arm, gave her the courage to open slowly one eye, then the other. He was still asleep.

Her heart began to pound against her ribs. She had never had the chance to look at him so closely, and so freely. The nose, straight but a bit turned-up at the point, reminded her of the greek sculptures her uncle Lamb had been so fond of, as did the high cheekbones. His cheeks were covered in a golden stubble that she thought so soft she had to restrain herself from touching it. And of course, his eyes. Those almond-shaped eyes, almost feline. Whenever he looked at her under those long, blonde eyelashes, her heart skipped a beat. His thick brows rested relaxed, in a slightly darker tone than the red and golden curls that grazed his forehead. They gave him such a youthful look in his sleep that she couldn’t help but smiling. Also, they looked so silky that the restraint that had kept her hand securely tucked under her face, palm on palm with the other, made a mind of its own and extended its fingers to caress them. At first, only her fingertips brushed against them. They were as flossy as she thought. Gaining confidence, her fingers began to weave those curls, delighting in the feeling.

A pleased smile showed up on his lips and a gutural groan made his chest purr. Her hand froze in place and the sudden stop made him open tentatively one beautiful blue eye. Jamie laughed deeply in content.

“Ye look like a bairn who juist got caught stealing a pie from the kitchen, Sassenach…”

“I, ehm, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…”

“Don’t stop. It feels nice.“ He mumbled under his breath and pulled his head closer, if it was even possible, to encourage her. Their foreheads rested against the pillow, grazing each other.

It took her a second to gain the confidence back, but after she did, she allowed herself to play his curls without concern. He groaned again while she massaged his scalp and she wondered about the hundred of hues of the locks weaved around her fingers.

Painfully aware of her proximity, Jamie got lost in the feeling of her fingers wandering in his hair. Keeping his eyes tightly shut, at least he could hide the look of desire he knew they would give off, but when her hand navigated to his nape and caressed the gap where his head joined the neck, his willpower abandoned him like a feather caught in an air stream. Quietly panting, his chest moving up and down visibly, he opened his eyes and was stared back by those amber eyes of hers. His hand moved from her back to her hip, sinking his fingers in the tender flesh. He searched for a sign, anything that could indicate that she was unwilling. But when he felt that hand in the back of her head slightly pull him towards her, he couldn’t contain himself anymore.

His lips crashed against hers, eliciting a soft moan of pleasure from them that made his whole body tremble. Pulling her body even closer to his, their skins kissed each other just as their mouths were. Her hand was replaced by her whole arm, embracing his neck, not allowing him to part. His lips pressed firmly against hers, taking her lower lip between them, nibbling it slowly with his teeth. She opened her mouth to let him explore it, causing a groan that turned her body to jelly. Jamie slowly pressed her to lie on her back, hovering above her while his hand navigated the pleasant curves of her body. His tongue slipped between her lips, looking for hers and caressing it tenderly. Her hands went over his back, stroking his skin and erasing his scars under her loving touch, before getting lost again in his curls.

Jamie parted slowly, grazing the tip of her nose with his own. His breathing was heavy, and it took a moment for him to open back his eyes. He saw her cheeks flushed, the look of desire that mimicked his own.

“Where did you learn to kiss like that?” She asked raising her eyebrows.

“I might ha’ been to a convent, but I’m not a monk”.

Jamie’s smirk turned her bones to water while he looked at her from under those never ending eyelashes. He rested his forehead against hers while keeping all his weight off her chest, his arms like columns at each side of her head.

“As much as I enjoyed this, Sassenach, I think it might be better to stop here. I amna a monk and sure as there’s a hell below us that I amna made of stone either…”

The bang of the door clashing against the wall froze them on place. Douglas voice welcomed them from the threshold.

“Care to explain this, lass?” He said holding out a piece of paper. Claire looked over Jamie’s shoulder and her blood left her face. She could discern, even from the distance, that elegant handwriting in a million lives.

It was Jack Randall’s.


	10. The letter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay updating! More coming soon :)

Jamie and Claire stood quietly in Collum’s study. The hearth was crackling, its flames comfortably heating the room. The laird of clan MacKenzie was sitting behind his oak desk, holding his hands together and examining them in deep thought. Dougal had the paper in his, wrinkled after reading it one too many times. His demeanor was even more mistrustful towards Claire and she knew it wasn’t only because of Randall’s letter.

After Dougal left the room without another word, Jamie looked into Claire’s terrified eyes. Her head had fallen against the pillow and her gaze started to wander around in a frantic way. He sat up, pulling her with him and grabbing her face with both his hands, trying to soothe her quickly speeding heart. Hushing, he caressed her cheeks with his thumbs.

“Dinna fash, Sassenach. Dougal will give us a hard time at dinner but juist ignore him…”

He didn’t understand what had just happened. She sneaked from his embrace and started to pace nervously around the room gathering her clothes and trying to get dressed. Almost an impossible task if her hands didn’t stop shaking uncontrollably. Jamie could see her chest beginning to raise up and down the same way it had that first night in Leoch and knew what was coming. He jumped out of bed and firmly restrained her, forcing her to stop and look at him.

“What is it, Claire? Tell me.”

She finally stopped, but he could feel her whole body trembling while she tried to let out every single thought that was clouding her mind.

“That… That paper, did you see it?“ Jamie’s furrowed brow answered without words. He had been laying on top of her, with his back facing the door. Of course he thought she was troubled by the inappropriate situation his uncle had found them in. She shook her head violently. “Dougal had a letter. I… recognized the handwriting.”

It took a second for Jamie to realize what she was trying to tell him. So that was it. Randall finally had put two and two together and found out Claire was some kind of hostage of clan MacKenzie. Of course it was a difficult position to be in. But determination took over doubt swiftly. If Claire wanted to stay as a guest in Leoch, that was all there was to it. He couldn’t force her to go, unless she was a fugitive of justice or he summoned her for questioning as a suspect of any type of crime against the Crown. Two choices Jamie knew would be hard to pull off even for a captain of dragoons.

But any of these thoughts seemed to be passing through Claire’s mind. She ended up dressing as neatly as she could, given the circumstances, and rushed off to Collum’s office, followed by a grim redheaded highlander.

 

* * *

 

Collum’s pale eyes finally left his hands and wandered the room before laying on his brother’s. The silence cloaked the room like a gloomy storm in the faraway, heavy as unspoken death sentence. Claire’s stance was firm, pale in shock, and her hands were twisting his fingers almost in a painful way. She knew what the letter would say, even before Dougal smoothed it out and read it out loud, clenching his jaw.

“To the laird of Leoch. It has reached my knowledge that you and your clan are providing safe haven to fugitives of the Crown. A number of men that attacked and murdered a patrol on their way to Fort William, and that are hereby summoned to answer for their crimes in the light of the King’s justice. Submit these men to Fort William within the fortnight or you will be held in contempt for obstructing the King’s Law. Signed by Captain Jonathan Randall of His Majesty's Eighth Dragoons.”

Claire felt a wave of hopelessness and bitter surprise washed over her. She had been sure that the letter was going to claim her back, back into Randall’s intangible prison of pain and scorn. But this was even worse. Behind her, Jamie's presence kept her grounded to the moment.

“It’s dated on October 10th. We still hae ten days to figure out what we’re gaun to do.” Dougal stared back at his brother. The laird’s expression was blank, but under the appearance of calmness, his features were tense and his neck started to turn red. His eyes lingered one more second on Dougal’s before landing on Claire’s. After a silent minute that felt like eternity, Collum shook his head slowly and sighed.

“Ye can go, mistress,” and made a gesture towards the door as he stood up carefully and waddled his way to the armchair facing the hearth.

 

* * *

 

 

Claire left the three men behind, completely puzzled. There was no one to be seen in the physician’s lair, as she began to call it for herself, and she started the fire to warm up the cold room. As the first flames came to live, she sat nearby and extended her hands to fight the cold.

_If I’m safe, if Randall doesn’t want me back, or even know I’m here… Then why? Why did Dougal made me stood there and listen to this if the letter…_

Then it hit her. Reality hit her with the same force that battered the grass when the cold north winds blew. Of course he knew. And Dougal knew as well. He wanted her to see, to fully realize the price they were going to pay for her safety. Randall knew her too well. He was completely aware of the subtlety he needed to play his game. If he asked her back, directly, she could always claim she was no hostage at all and decided to stay within the safety of castle Leoch and under the protection of clan MacKenzie. But if instead he demanded the criminals to be brought to justice, they would have a bargaining chip in her person.

Of course honor wouldn’t allow Collum to deny her the hospitality of the clan. But he was being faced by an impossible decision. Returning her to her rightful place, or handing over his men, his own family, to the executioner’s noose.

Her heart sank and wondered, at the same time, at the acuteness of Randall’s mind. If she was being held hostage, this would be the perfect time to return to his _ever loving arms_. If she was there by her own choice, then she had to know what was at stake. And he knew her heart was too gentle to let other people pay for her safety with their own lives.

A soft knock on the door pulled her out of her thoughts. She dried her cheeks, wet with tears she hadn’t even realized she was crying, and cleared her throat before answering the door.

With a timid step, a young blonde woman entered the room. _Not a woman_ , she corrected herself. Almost a girl, couldn’t be any older than sixteen. Her round face was framed by a soft, straight mane of golden hair and her cheeks, soft and rosy, were crowned by a pair of pale blue eyes that looked for Claire in that unfamiliar environment. She had seen that girl around the kitchens, but couldn’t remember her name, or exchanging anything else than a polite greeting that was always met on the girl’s side by an insincere scarce smile.

“Can I help you…”

“Laoghaire,”, she finished Claire’s sentenced.

“Laoghaire. Is there anything I can do for you?”

“Aye, it is, actually,” she answered sharply. Her hand searched in her skirt and produced a tiny bit of parchment that she offered to Claire. “Ye can go back to him.”

The words stabbed her and froze her in place. Laoghaire closed the distance between them and placed the note on her hand with a satisfied grin, then turned her back and headed for the door, before closing it behind her.

“And leave Jamie.”

 

* * *

 

 

Claire stared at the piece of paper on her hand as she was holding a venomous snake, about to be bitten by it. Laoghaire’s mean words took her breath away. That's why she was always so distant, almost rude. Seeing Jamie around her probably fed her jealousy to a limit where she was willing to an incredibly risky action as it was to spy and pass a secret message for the British inside a Scottish castle. The astonishment of her behavior disolved as she recognized the thin scent that flowed from the note. That hideous, revolting lavender he used as his personal signature. Slowly, she sat back on the small wood stool near the fire and collected all the willpower that remained in her body to unfold the corners of the small letter.

His elegant handwriting uncovered before her eyes and the words echoed in her head with the sound of his sickening voice.

“My dear, dear Claire. Are you playing hide and seek? If that’s the case, know by now that I have won. Don’t make me go after you. Otherwise…”

Her stomached turned, filling her mouth with bile and bitterness. A place and a date. Claire realized she knew how a man sentenced to the gallows felt when the conviction was announced in court. She knew what awaited for her, the strength that would take to survive a new ordeal, probably one even crueler than what she had experienced so far under Randall’s rule. But the other option was sending the clans men to die. Even though they had murdered the British soldiers, she wouldn’t be responsible of their deaths.

_Of Jamie’s death._

Claire shook her head and her tears fell off her face, dampening her skirt. Of course she wouldn’t let him walk to his death. Knowing as she knew that he wouldn’t allow her to save him, she had to come up with a plan to escape the castle without him knowing. At least, not until she fulfilled it.

That was a rather intimidating task. He had become her shadow since the first day. Extracting herself from the bond they had created would be the hardest thing of it all.

_Out of sight, out of heart._

That was it. She only had to stay out of his sight for the next few hours and he’d be safe.


	11. The escape

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can't stop writing!! And sorry in advance >.<

Jamie left Collum’s study barely containing his anger. He had read between the lines his uncles were writing long before Claire was dismissed. Being laird took a lot of wit and skill, he already knew that, but he was flabbergasted at the thought of losing Claire to Randall, only to pay for a crime they did have committed. They were using her and for all he knew, she was unaware of the game they were playing, and how she had become a pawn in their schemes.

He strode into the kitchens on his way to the phisician’s room, but Mrs. Fitz’s tuneful voice sang before he could get to the stairs.

“Jamie lad, ye won’t find the lass there. She went to Cranesmuir wi’ Aileas, said she could use the ride.”

The hand that was touching the stone wall slowly curved into a fist before dropping by his side. He nodded curtly and run to the stables, hoping he’d catch Claire before leaving.

By the time he had left the kitchen, Mrs. Fitz whistled softly and Claire’s curled head emerged from the pantry.

“Thank you, Mrs. Fitz.”

She smiled sadly and tilted her head, staring at Claire.

“Ye’re welcome lass. Ye will be missed,” she whispered.

 

* * *

 

With Jamie busy at the stables, as it was his job to tend to the horses, and thinking she was spending the day in Cranesmuir, Claire’s day went by in solitude, sitting by the window of her bedchamber. She didn’t have to pack. Her arrival had been empty handed, and so it would be her departure. The hours passed with her soul soaking in the beauty of the green pastures that surrounded the castle, the flight of the birds slashing the bluest sky on Earth, the humid, almost sweet scent of rain kissed soil.

Mrs. Fitz was an unexpected ally. She didn’t need to explain to her why she couldn’t see Jamie anymore. Some deep understanding of human soul and torment provided the housekeeper with any silent answers she needed. Claire knew she could count on her to keep Jamie at bay, even if that meant she had to guard her bedroom door all night. That could be a problem, given Jamie’s new nightly customs, but she prayed that, for once, he left her alone.

Determined to keep her profile low and not be seen, she had grabbed a piece of cheese and some bread to dine on her own before waiting for the castle to sleep and her chance to escape. Fainting in the middle of the forest with no one around to help her didn’t sound appealing at all, and she forced the food down her throat despite the protests of her stomach. After the joyful commotion of the common dinner had quieted down, silence began to take over the castle, and she had to fight her eyelids decision to close. Splashing her face with cold water helped, but as she was getting dried with a soft linen towel, a soft knock disturbed the peace.

_Of course, you stubborn Scot…_

Thinking quick, she dropped a blanket around her as if she had just got out of bed, tousled her hair a bit (not that it needed it much), and paced slowly to the door. She opened it slightly, only a small cranny, enough to discover the troubled visitor’s face.

“Sassenach, I’ve been looking for ye all day, where…” Jamie’s tone was filled with worried, though he was trying to keep it low and as neutral as possible, but concern had carved two small lines deep in his brow. There was something else in his features. The physical barrier of the door clearly annoyed him, and she could feel the tension of his muscles as if he was about to throw it wide open.

“I’m sorry, Jamie. Just… I’m just tired. It’s been a difficult day and I wanted time on my own, I hope you don’t mind.” She tried to sound as sleepy as she could and tucked herself tighter in the blanket, lowering her eyes.

Of course she could feel his gaze, intensely reading her. He was like a hound, and trying to create a false trace was a futility. But still, manners were deeply plaited in his nature, and despite sensing something was off, he stiffed a grunt and yielded.

“Mmphm. Fair enough, Sassenach. We’ll talk in the morn. But harbor no silly thought, ye hear me?” He said it in such an admonitory way that Claire’s lips curved in a timid smile.

“Good night, Jamie.“

 

* * *

 

_How long has it been already?_

It was difficult to keep track of time when no windows were nearby to see the stars or the moon. Jamie rolled over trying to get more comfortable but the shoulder was still sore and the wooden floor by Claire’s door wasn’t the softest of beds. He grunted as he repositioned his cape and stared at the ceiling. What was she thinking? Did she figured out the scene that was playing before her? Claire was no fool. She must have picked up on something. But yet, why didn’t she talk to him? There was something between them, that was for sure. He didn’t know how to call it, but at least, he thought she was starting to trust him enough to allow him to look in her soul. A tortured soul that had suffered more than he wanted to imagine. Anger always got the best of him when those images crossed his mind, the memory of the rugged skin of her scars, and he clenched his fists tightly. She wasn’t going back to him, and she needed to know. No, there was no way he was going to spend the night tossing and turning, he needed to talk to her right away. Even if he woke her up.

When the first knock remained unanswered, Jamie knocked again a little louder, only once. But when no answer came from inside the bedroom, a defeated premonition made him turn the knob to open the door. The sight of the opened window, letting the cold wind of the night steal the warmth of the hearth, froze him in place. He didn’t need to check the empty bed.

“A Dhia…”

 

* * *

 

Her feet weren’t used to run in the middle of the night, with only the moon and the stars as a guide. The roots that scattered among the high grass made her trip every three steps, and she knew her calfs would be covered in bruises before dawn came. Castle Leoch was still close, even though she had been walking for what it felt like an hour. The forest was thick and the land was steep. Despite the cold of the air, she found herself sweating under her shawl.

The meeting place was easy to find. Even as unfamiliarized as she was with the surroundings, walking straight to the south wasn’t the hardest route to follow. The instructions provided by the letter were clear. If she kept that pace and the direction, she’d be found eventually. And sooner rather than later, by her own calculations.

Focusing on her steps to avoid tripping as much as she could was proving itself a helpful way to keep her thoughts under control. She knew that the moment she allowed herself to face what she was running into, and realize what she was giving away, her legs would stop working and turn back without any kind of opposition. Instinct was a hard rule to break, and she was breaking all of it by handing her life over to that empty carcass of a man. Where humanity and kindness were supposed to live, instead tyranny, cruelty and viciousness made themselves at ease. But knowing precisely what she was facing forbade her to allow another person to bear with it.

No sound preceded the hand that grabbed her arm and forced her to turn around, almost crashing her against a warm solidness.

“What d’ye think ye’re doing, Claire?” Jamie’s voice was no louder than a whisper, but it kept every single ounce of authority. Emotions run wildly through her chest, the terror of being already found before she had the chance to prepare herself, the surprise of discovering Jamie, the relief that came with his presence and finally, the turmoil of having to convince him to let her go. It took every piece of willpower in her to release her arm of his grip, and even in the dark, she saw the disappointment in his eyes, almost black under the stars.

“I’m going back.You know I am.” She stated as firmly as possible. Ready to walk away, Jamie grabbed her again, holding her arms and pulling her closer, only a few inches of empty space between them. Claire felt as if she was trying to tear her heart out and prayed he would make it easier.

_Of course you won’t, you stubborn Scot._

“Ye’re not gaun anywhere, ye hear me? We’ll go back home and find a way to solve this.”

Releasing herself again was even harder than the first time, and she knew she would comply if he touched her once more. Claire took a few steps back to widen the space between them and allowing her thought to gain the clarity they needed so badly. Tears began to sting behind her eyelids and exhaustion made itself present in her whole body. Jamie wouldn’t yield. He closed the distance between them once more, and held her against her chest, firmly. She finally gave up into the embrace, resting her cheek against that comfortable spot below his neck and inhaling that intoxicating scent of his. His arms surrounded her tightly and she could feel his breath against her the top of her head.

Slowly, he pulled her just the slightest away, enough to be able to look at her for one shy second, before kissing her. Their lips met in the softest way possible for a brief moment, before passion, need, fear and anguish took over them. The pressure of his mouth made her moan while her hands held to his shoulders for dear life. Jamie’s hands left her waist to cuddle her face and her nape while his teeth bit her lower lip passionately, violently. Desire was pulsating through his veins. He wanted nothing more than to take that woman there and then, to make her completely his and forbid her to go anywhere he wouldn’t be.

The sound of the pistol being cocked broke the moment beyond repair.

Claire’s heart skipped a beat, then pounded fiercely against her ribs. Slowly, she pulled herself from the safety of Jamie’s body. He was looking right at the place where the doomed sound had been produced, stiff and watchful. His left arm had positioned around her waist to secure her in place, and the grip was hard. No, she realized he had let her go the first two times. He wasn’t going to let her again.

Her eyes followed his trajectory and the objective made her gasp. She had expected a soldier, of course, or some kind of thug at Randall’s service in the worst scenario. But there he was. Her fiancé was standing, tall, lean, not a hair out of place even in the middle of the forest in a windy humid night. His arm was extended before him, pointing at them with the barrel of the pistol.

“Well, if this isn’t unexpected, I don’t know what it is. My favorite flogged murderer and my future wife.“ Claire felt the grip of Jamie’s tightening even more around her. “My dear, dear Claire. Come to me, before I send this ruffian to meet his Maker.”

_My future wife._

Jamie looked at her for the first time since Randall appeared and shook his head once, denying firmly, a mix of sadness, rebellion and realization in his eyes.

_My future wife._

The words echoed in his mind like a chant. That was what Claire had been hiding. Had they known she was promised to Randall, probably not even Jamie would have been able to stop Dougal from taking much more severe measures. She had played her cards bravely, the best way she could, even though it was a losing hand. His jaw was tense, making the muscles below the skin visible. There was some kind of plea under his gesture, a silent prayer, directed right back at her and knowing at the same time he was demanding the impossible.

“She willna go wi’ ye.” The words came out like a hiss between his teeth.

Randall took one step closer to them, but still out of reach even for a man of Jamie’s size. He knew perfectly who he was dealing with, and wasn’t going to make any mistakes. A crooked smile crept to his lips and tilted his head, nodding knowingly.

“Is it so, dear?”

Years after that moment, Claire still wondered how she was able to release herself from Jamie and walk over to Randall. The strength she needed to gather was beyond her imagination. Randall’s smile disappeared as suddenly as it had come.

“Let her go or I will scatter your brains over the trees for the vermin to eat them.”

Claire couln’t fight the tears any longer and they rolled down her cheeks as she faced Jamie shaking his head, silently begging her to stay. But as much as he had endured Randall’s torture, he still wasn’t aware of how much damage he could do, only for his own pleasure. She grabbed his hand and extricated her body of his, lingering in that last instant of touch before walking over to her fiancé. Plea was drawn on her face as well, but a very different one.

“Please, John, don’t. I’m here, let’s just go,“ she whispered, every step she took heavier than the one before.

Randall waited until she was right by his side to turn his gaze away from the highlander and into his fiancée. With a soft caress, he cleaned her tears of both her cheeks, grabbed the back of her head and pulled her into a deep kiss, willing to erase every memory of Jamie of her skin. His tongue navigated the secrets of her mouth, making her almost gag at the touch in contrast with the tenderness and affection she had found in Jamie’s kisses. She could hear the twigs cracking under his feet as if he was about to jump, and a gaelic cursed was muttered under his breath.

When Randall freed her from the hunger of his mouth, it was as if those few weeks had never happened. That little sprout of hope soon withered and collapsed, to be only replaced with the weeds of despair and hopelessness. With his arm firmly wrapped around her waist, such a different sensation, Randall held her even closer without breaking his gaze on Jamie, not even when he had been kissing Claire.

“Well, who knows when I will have another chance.”

And nonchalantly, he pulled the trigger.


	12. The torture

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. This is the most difficult chapter I've ever written so far. It's not pretty, and it could trigger some people, so please, be aware of it.

The thick leather soles produced a very distinctive sound. She had learned to discern his steps from the others that wandered near that door. But the moment he entered the corridor, the matt sound of his boots announced his presence even sooner than the lavender scent that impregnated the air around him. The first four or five nights, she had already lost count, he only sat on the small wooden stool that sufficed as the one piece furniture in the room. A cell, more than a room, even though it was in the wing of the garrison that contained the bedchambers for the officers. He sat there and looked at her, blank face, relaxed features. Claire had tried to talk to him the first time he visited her. She tried to explain, as much as she could, that she was sorry. Knowing him as she did, she realized submission was the only way to escape, if there was any, from a grimmer fate. But her words were met with silence, and when the second night she tried to initiate a new apologetic diatribe, she realized there was no chance, not a single chance of producing any kind of effect in that man. She was completely at his disposal.

So she yielded. Hours went by every day, pacing around the room, feeling the moistness of the stone under her feet, their rugged kiss. Seeing a little piece of the sky and watching the ever changing moon through the tiny cavity in the upper part of the wall was her only solace, and also the only way to distinguish between day and night. When the sun came down, also did Randall, as a gloomy shade that obscured every inch of hope.

Not that she had any left now. She had see him die.

_No…_

No. No, she had see him _fall_ , that’s all. He wasn’t dead. He couldn't be. Jamie had flinched at the very last second, launching himself forward, and even a fine shooter as Jack Randall couldn’t hit a moving target with that dexterity. But he aimed well and hit. And Jamie had fallen. She still could hear the dull thud of his body against the blanket of leaves, his cinnamon curls almost black in the darkness. It had also taken a few days to realize that that annoying, penetrating sound that followed his fall was her screams. Agony screams that only receded when Randall’s gloved hand pushed hard against her mouth before throwing her up on his horse.

The only thread of sanity she clung to was his back. She could still close her eyes and see his back moving up and down, the same way it did when he was sound asleep. He couldn’t be dead, and she held to that thought as a rope in the middle of a tidal wave. Doubt came in the form of sudden images that crossed her mind and the very little sleep she was able to get. Jamie, pale faced, blood dripping from the corner of his lips. Jamie’s corpse in the middle of the forest, defiled by vermin and scavengers. Jamie’s chest pierced by a bullet, and her hands trying to stop the bleeding. But she clung to it. To him. To Jamie, alive.

That night started the same way as the others, the same calm steps announcing his entrance, the same noise of the stool legs scratching against the naked stone floor. The same sigh when he finally sat down. Hearing his voice, after he cleared his throat, startled her unexpectedly.

“I wasn’t the man I used to be, once. Before coming to Scotland. When you find yourself surrounded by the weak and the poor, something inside of you is born, something you didn’t know it was there.” Claire’s eyes were fixated on him, as the prey stares into the snake’s eyes. “I had been less than a year in Fort William as captain of dragoons. A dull responsibility. Petty thieves and minor robberies, that’s all I saw during months. But that day was different.”

Randall filled his lungs and let the air slowly leave them, so immersed in the memory Claire thought he was actually talking to himself.

“He had been taken prisoner for theft and received one hundred lashes for it. The corporal administered them less than a week before, in front of a proper audience. It’s an instructive way of showing the fool and the inmoral what lies ahead if they surrender to their lowest instincts, and it’s usually quite effective. But that boy, that _redheaded highlander_ hadn’t screamed. Not one single cry. He had became a symbol of rebellion instead of submission. I realized that he needed further punishment, so I prepared to administer one hundred more. You see, flogging a person is not a pretty thing. Faints are usual among the crowd, and some people tend to look away. But this was different. You should have seen his back. The corporal had been thorough in his duties, and the mere touch of the shirt seemed to cause unfathomable pain. I know it, because when my men were locking his wrists to the scaffold, I sticked a finger in one of the wounds. And I watched him squirm. His eyes were feverish, and he was warm to the touch, exuding that peculiar metallic smell blood has, almost solid in the mouth.”

He adjusted his position and continued his speech, not a single tremble or sign of sentiment in his voice.

“I wanted to pace myself. You see, one hundred lashes are quite an exercise, and he deserved my whole attention. I couldn’t falter. But seeing that beautiful piece of art made of blood, flesh and sweat spurred me in a way I have never felt before that day or ever again. So I flogged him. Every lash was a connection between us, between my craftsmanship and his canvas. A link that would never be dissolved and we’ll both carry along to our graves. But again… he didn’t cry. He didn’t scream, or beg for mercy. I tried to _break_ him, to _own_ him, but not a single tear was shed. The scaffold was slippery with his blood. He wasn’t even able to stand by himself, and with the final lashes, he just hung there, limp." He licked his lips, flushed by the memory. "I can honestly say, that back is the most beautiful, splendid thing I’ve ever done and seen in my life.”

In the silence that followed his last word, only Claire’s desperate sobs echoed against the stone walls. Her hands had crept to her ears, trying to block his voice out, but still it slithered into them, reaching her heart and her very soul, corrupting it in a way she had never thought she could feel. Utter, complete and irrevocable despair. She lost track of time, only her tears keeping her grounded to an unescapable reality. Even when she thought she could cry no more, her eyes would contradict her. Whenever she closed them, the perfect picture Randall had drawn with his words would appear and shake her very core. But when she thought she couldn’t handle another ounce of pain, his voice came through again.

“Tell me, did you get to see his back before I _killed_ him? Did he tell you how he got the scars? Tell me you were able to touch them. To caress that magnificent work, to feel the roughness of its edges. Tell me how it felt to lay your fingertips on them and follow the pattern, that intricate design. Did you kiss them? Could you feel them with your lips? My dear, _dear_ Claire. Please, tell me how it felt to see him fall. Did you smell it? The blood? Did you hear his rales? His last strength trying to hold to the world of the living and failing miserably? Tell me but, please, picture it first. Close your eyes and go back to that forest. To the taste of his mouth, to his musky scent, to the heat of his body. To his desire. And now, imagine all of that, gone. Nonexistent. Rotting in the middle of that forest for all the little scavengers to prey on. That fine body, reduced to a decomposing shadow of a man. Tell me, how does it feel?”

And then, she screamed.

 

* * *

 

His eyes snapped open. Jamie could swear, once again, he had heard her scream. But it was impossible, reason settled back in as he lay his back against the feather mattress. He had tossed his blankets aside, his body temperature still high even for a furnace of a man like him. Closing his eyes back to sleep was a task he was daunted by. Before sleep would finally take him, Claire’s desperate screams filled his ears and the taste of blood flooded his mouth. It was like falling again, shot, on the floor of that gloomy forest.

What happened after that bastard shot him was still a blur. His godfather Murtagh had found him near Castle Leoch, full of dried and fresh blood and crawling with the last bit of strength he had. The next few days he had been in and out of consciousness, delirious when awake and trembling asleep. Dreams of Claire overrun his mind, the touch of her curls, the softness of her caress against his back, the firmness of her body under his, the form of her waist in his hands. Some times she appeared by the side of his bed and stroke his head lovingly, pushing aside the locks that had stuck to his forehead in sweat. Those dreams were the worse, because they inevitably ended. And the feel of loss, the utter emptiness in his soul left him breathless.

His fever had peaked two days before, and even Dougal had visited him. He remembered his tall figure and the rich cadence of his voice. Even the cold of his hand while feeling his burning skin. But death had decided to leave him alone, at least for now, and passed by while his fever broke. He was still weak as a kitten, but staying in bed wouldn’t change that. So he wrapped himself in a blanket and barefoot, clinging to the walls, decided to go right into Collum’s study. But on the way to the door, it got opened slowly and his godfather’s figure emerged from the shadows. Surprise, then scowling welcomed the scene, and Jamie knew his trip had ended before starting. Instead of going back to bed, he decided to sit in one of the chairs next to it, with a strained sigh. The bullet had passed right under his collar bone his right arm still felt numb from time to time, but whenever he moved, the pain stabbed his shoulder and made him flinch.

Murtagh waited on the threshold until Jamie had accommodated himself before entering the room and closing the door behind him. Jamie was avoiding his gaze, but he sat on the bed and waited until he found the strength to look at him.

“I failed her—”

“Ye did no such thing, lad,” Murtagh said not allowing him to finish his sentence. His voice was soft, but firm. “She made a wale and stuck to it. If ye go and fall in Randall’s hands, her sacrifice will be for naething. She went to save us. To save _ye_.”

He felt the knot in his throat, and the warmth of the tears flowing in his eyes. Still, rebellion pulsated through his veins and ignited his soul.

“Aye, she did. She delivered herself to the claws of the Devil himself. And I let her. We are letting her. Who kens what she’s gaun through. Only to save a bunch o’ criminals from the fate they brought upon themselves, tell me how's that fair.” Silence fell between us, and Jamie wiped violently his tears away. “She’s promised to him.”

His usually cryptic godfather gave away his constant mask of slight irritation and an even darker look replaced it. Murtagh lowered his head and sighed, staring at his callous hands, resting on top of his thighs. He knew how the lad felt. He had seen him around the _sassenach_ from the first day and recognized instantly the way he looked at her. More than a decade had passed since the last time Murtagh himself had looked a woman that way, and yet he completely understood how impossible it was for him to stay back and do nothing. He knew, right then, that if he didn’t go with Jamie, he would go on his own and get himself killed.

The older highlander inhaled deeply, and let the air out with a soft hiss.

“Aaricht, lad. We’ll go get her. But ready yersel. If she’s still alive, and ye hae to prepare for the warse, she’ll be different. Randall couldn’t break ye, but he only haed a go at ye.”

Jamie nodded curtly and stood again, pacing slowly towards the window. The north winds blew against the frail crystal, shaking the wooden frame. The clouds moved fast in the dark skies, uncovering the stars and a full moon behind them before tucking them back to sleep.

 

* * *

 

Pale, thin and cold, the waning moon stared back at Claire. Her fingers reached out as if they were able to touch it, tracing the borders of the sphere with a trembling hand. The effort left her breathless, and her arm dismayed back on her lap. Randall had spent the last seven nights telling her the same story about Jamie’s flogging and demise. Asking her, once again, what it felt like to see him collapse and die. Forcing that memory down her throat into her inner self, wherever it was now, lost in the darkness and blindly wandering in a venomous swamp created by his words.

She wasn’t herself anymore. Whenever her fiancé left the room, Claire’s mind slipped away from herself, abandoning her as just an empty case of a body. The second night she thought there were no more tears in the world for her to cry, but still, every time Randall resumed his story, her eyes betrayed her again, and again. She tried screaming to cover the tale until her throat was raw and her voice disappeared. She punched her ears, hoping that the pain kept the sound at bay.

But that night, after a week of that unbearable torture, when anger, anguish, pain and despair joined forces in the little piece of her heart that was left sane, incapable of taking any more of his cruel depictions, she launched herself against her captor and clawed her fingernails in the skin of his face.

Randall had been able to subdue her in just a few seconds, grabbing her wrist with such a strength she thought he might break them. Weak as she was after days of not eating and barely drinking any water, Claire felt as a limp doll in his power. That was the first time he had used any kind of physical violence directly on her. No, his torture had been more subtle and yet more painful than a white iron burn. But then she realized he had been waiting for an excuse, for a response that would allow him to follow whatever sick plan he had conceived for her.

He tied his hands together with his belt, so tightly she felt the blood pulsating under the tie. Letting her slip to the floor, Randall stood up and left the room for what seemed an eternity. Claire’s senses had begun to evade her as they always did, unable to sustain any more pain, when he reappeared, snapping her back to reality. In one hand he carried a long, thin, flexible wood stick. With the other, he grabbed the belt and force her to stand up, hooking the bond that formed her wrists to the wall. With her back exposed to him, Randall paced around the room, delighting in anticipation and her fear.

The first lash elicited a piercing scream from her parched lips. Claire had buried deeply into his memories the feeling of the whip against the skin. Now, it burned, stung and hurt in a mix of sensations that turned her stomach. The second one came sooner than she expected, and she clenched her teeth hoping that she’d manage not to bite her own tongue. After the third, she lost count. For a while, the only sounds in the room was the slashing of the branch through the air, the content panting of her captor, and her cries.

“My dear, dear Claire. Finally, broken. I have to admit it. You’ve proven yourself stronger than many men I know. Damn, I think not even a single one of my soldiers would be able to restrain themselves as much as you have. I know you think you know me. You’d probably instructed yourself to stay submissive, to not respond directly at any of my… attentions. But, you see, you have failed.”

Randall closed the distance between them and stuck his body to her back side, not minding the blood that would stick to his clothes. The tender flesh protested under the touch, but trapped against the wall, there was no room left for her to relieve the pressure. His nose navigated through her hair, nuzzling her neck, before allowing the tip of his tongue to taste the mix of sweat and tears that covered the soft skin below her ear. His left hand explored her thin curves, wandering from her waist to her hip, pushing his crotch against her glutes and thrusting his fingers in her flesh.

“You see, Claire, this was precisely what I wanted to do to Jamie. I offered him a deal: surrendering himself to me, in exchange of eluding the flogging,” he whispered in her ear. “Did he tell you? Did he confessed how he thought about the possibility for a minute? Picturing us together, naked, his glorious body completely under muy power?” Slowly, Randall begun to unbutton the front of his pants. The rod fell to the floor, as he started to raise her shift. “Can you imagine us? See it. See him laying on his chest, exposed…”

The pressure on her back suddenly disappeared, and a turmoil created where there was once a painful peace. The sound of metal hitting the floor, and then the unpleasant noise of bone breaking under the skin. A repeating thud, constant as the bells calling for the believers. Some words hissed in the middle of the uproar, some of the ininteligible, others more familiar. _Bastard_. _Kill_. _Dead_. _Hell_.

A pair of careful hands unhooking her wrists from the wall and helping her on the floor. A dash of red fabric and blue embroidery. Redcoats. But the faces were familiar, the thick beards, the long manes in disarray, the richness of the gaelic voices. Her eyes wondered from her savior to a mass of red curls that bent over a body, straddling him. Two fists covered in blood, four hands pulling from his arms backwards in order to stop him, succeeding only after much struggle. A pair of dashing blue eyes, light and clean as a summer sky, staring at her in disbelief. The feeling of a familiar body holding her tightly and raising her into the safety of his arms.

Then it all became a blur.


	13. The healing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't leave you for too long with that last update...

He loved that place. It had been his favorite place since he was a child. Whenever he had a fight with his siblings or was scolded by his parents, he would run to that quiet bank and let the sound of the stream take his worries away, under a centenary oak. But now there was no solace to be found. He stared at the moon, reflected upon the dark current, and threw a pebble over the surface.

_All for_ _naethin'_ _._

Assaulting Fort William was a fool’s errand. Who, in their right mind, would risk their lives to enter a British fortress only to escape with an English woman about to marry an officer. At first he thought only Murtagh and him were crazy enough to attempt such a thing, but when his godfather talked to Angus and Rupert, both of them decided to join. Claire had tended to both of them while she was acting as Castle Leoch’s healer and even before, while traveling their way back from the ambush, and a feeling of debt pushed them to try and save her. That, and knowing she had tried to save them from the gallows.

The gang had left the MacKenzie quarters in the middle of the night. Jamie’s shoulder was still sore and his fever, though lower, kept his head light and dizzy whenever he moved abruptly. Galloping to Fort William had proven to be not the best treatment for a bullet wound, but determination overcame pain and by the time they arrived at the garrison, the only fire he felt was the one caused by his desire to steal Claire from Randall’s claws.

The plan was simple. Rupert and Angus had kept some redcoats uniforms they had stolen in rowdy circumstances and not willing to find anymore about it, Jamie had accepted Murtagh’s idea: they would infiltrate the fortress dressed as English soldiers. When Jamie looked at his kinsmen in uniform, he would have laughed if the situation was the smallest bit lighter. It would have been easier to make a donkey look like a swan than to transform four broad highlanders into soldiers of the Crown. Jamie didn’t look any better. His red curls stuck out in any situation, even though he pulled the tricorn on almost to his eyebrows, trying to hide them. The coat was tight and he felt like the seams would tear the minute he moved his shoulders. If any of the guards took a second look at them, they would be in trouble.

The four highlanders knew Fort William pretty well. All of them had been part of Jamie’s escape from the fortress after the second flogging, and if memory served correctly, there was an opening in the back of the garrison, used mainly to throw away waste and garbage near the river. Armed only with their daggers, since a Scottish broad sword would draw an English eye from a mile away, they descended into the valley. Mud and spoilage stuck to their boots and an awful smell kidnapped their noses.

“It smells worse than sweaty Netty’s oxter,” Rupert muttered.

The opening was still there and, by the look of the surroundings, it was still used for the same purpose. Even Jamie, the tallest of the group, couldn’t reach the borders with his hand. Over ten feet separated the men from the access to the fortress. Looking at each other, they silently decided to grab Angus without another word and propel him up. Once he reached the opening, he secured a rope and helped them climb up. Jamie’s wound was burning and by the time he joined the others, he could feel the warmth of blood slipping on his back. He eluded Murtagh’s knowing gaze and lead the group through the corridors.

They didn’t know where Claire was. Clearly Randall wouldn’t have thrown her into the common cells. No, he must have kept her some place where he could access without raising any eyebrows. Even a captain of His Majesty’s Army would have to answer a few questions as to why he was keeping her fiancée locked away in a rotting cell. Jamie grunted at the very thought. Probably some storage room could do it, but again, it could raise suspicions to see him wander around where only maids and simple soldiers would go. That only left a possibility.

The hour was late and the garrison was cloaked with the peace that usually accompanies dreams. They dodged a few couples of drowsy soldiers on their way to the officer’s chambers, trying to look as English as they could. Moving more like shadows than the warriors they were, once they reached the wing that was reserved to the captain and other commanders, it was time to decide which door they should try. They split throughout the corridor in silence, trying to look for a clue that would indicate where Claire could be. Jaime desperately searched around and stuck his ear to the doors. Nothing more than snoring and other breathing sounds. Too masculine to come from her. Murtagh’s hand reached his arm quietly to attract his attention and made a gesture with his head towards one of the doors by the end of the hall.

Followed by his men, Jamie stared at it. It look like the rest of them, but a small padlock hung opened from the knob. He could feel the blood escaping to his limbs, ready for battle. One last look at his godfather, that nodded once curtly, Jamie kicked the door restraining a scream that would draw even more curious eyes than the thud of the wood under his foot.

 

* * *

 

 

Jamie swallowed hard when the memory came back to his senses, as if he was living it again, trapped in that nightmare of a night. The sight of Claire strapped to the wall, that scum of a man getting ready to rape her, the blood that covered her back when he turned around to face them… He was unable to control his anger. While Murtagh run to free Claire, Jamie’s fist didn’t take too long before getting acquainted to Randall’s nose. The crack of the bone revolted and comforted him at the same time, and before he had the chance to fall to the floor, Jamie tackled him and crushed him under his weight. There, the English captain had no power at all. He tried to defend himself and Jamie took a couple of punches. At least he thought he must have taken them, when he saw his face in the mirror a couple of days later. In the heat of the moment the pain was nonexistent. Only the feeling of Randall’s face breaking under his fists. That’s all that mattered, even when Rupert and Angus had to use all their strength to restrain him from killing the thug.

That moment he would never forget. Claire, limp in Murtagh’s arms while he untied her wrists, looking at him as if he was a ghost. That was all it took for him to forget about Randall and held her into his arms.

 _All… for naethin’._ He threw another pebble.

They decided to stay in Lallybroch, the home Jamie hadn’t been able to visit since a price was put on his head. The estate was run by his sister and her husband, an old childhood friend of the family and a former brother in arms when both of them went to France being just lads. But since they arrived it had all taken a turn for the worse.

That night the moon was still young in the sky. After a day on the horse, Jamie and the others had taken separated ways in order to avoid prosecution as much as they could. They would gallop all the way back to Castle Leoch while Jamie returned to his clan. The steps of his exhausted mount echoed against the walls of the main stone building. Jenny hadn’t seen him in the past four years. Showing up unannounced, unexpected and with a wounded woman in his arms almost left her without words. While Jamie got an unconscious Claire off the horse, Jenny stood petrified under the threshold, staring at the scene in disbelief, joy and scold.

His brother-in-law, Ian, was even more astonished when he stepped carefully out of the house, trying not to touch her obviously irritated wife, to receive them.

“Ye always likit to make an entrance…” He mustered while Jamie faced his sister in the entrance, plea and determination on his face, an unreadable mixture of feelings in hers.

Jenny left the words that came to her mind in a whirlwind for a better moment and run upstairs, with her eight months pregnancy almost forgotten, to light a fire in one of the spare bedrooms. Jamie climbed the steps twice at a time and left Claire’s body carefully on the blankets of the bed. Jenny walked resolutely to them and rolled her over her side, squirming at the sight of her mistreated back. Her eyes went back to his brother’s, anxiously staring at the woman.

“Lea’. Noo.” Their gazes locked, measuring each other. “D’ye really want to fecht me? Noo?”

Jamie had accepted defeat and leave the room for her sister to tend to Claire. He must have fallen asleep without even noticing, because when he woke up, he was lying on the same floor but tucked under a blanket and with his head resting on a pillow. Jenny was nowhere to be seen.

_I shouldna hae…_

But he had. Trying to keep the wooden floor from cracking, he had stepped into the bedroom slowly and quietly. A candle by the bed lit Claire’s pale features. She was lying on her side, letting the wounds of her back breath without the pressure of her own body. In her sleep, the creases of pain and fear had relaxed, and her mouth rested slightly opened. Jamie squatted by the bedside and stared at her face, shaken by a wave of emotions. Relief was the most prominent, and even a timid smile reflected on his face. Claire was finally back, safe and no one would ever steal her again from him.

After a few minutes, he finally yielded to the need and allowed his fingertips to reach her face. Delicately, they traced the bones under her cheeks, the softness of her eyebrows, the fullness of her lips.

 _You bawheid_ ….

Her eyes opened slowly, fighting the drowsiness and trying to focus. Jamie’s hand froze in place before replacing his fingertips with her palm, caressing her cheek.

Claire jolted back and try to scream at the top of her lungs. Her throat was so sore the noise was more a shriek than a yell. She curved into a ball, grabbing her ears and crying inconsolably. Jaime stood up completely at a loss. He hadn’t expected her response and it hurt him dearly to see her rejecting him like that. Still undecided about what to do next, Jenny had marched into the room and pushed him from the bed, before climbing on top of it to hold Claire still.

“Oot. Noo!”

Three days had passed already and whenever he had tried to enter her bedroom and talk to her, Claire would scream and yell, crying and covering her ears in absolute despair. Jenny was always by her side and jumped in to console her when this happened. She hadn’t spoken so far, and only ate when his sister spoon fed her. She’d stay day and night by her side, combing her hair, bathing her with a warm wet cloth and tucking her in bed when night fell. All the things Jamie was dying to do, but couldn’t.

The first tears came down as the last pebble surfed the stream. He could take physical pain with the proverbial Scot stoicism. He wasn’t offended easily and was prone to quick forgiveness. He didn’t hold grudges, nor felt disturbed by words said in a past heated argument. But being unable to do anything, to help her recover from whatever she’d been put through was a new form of suffering he hadn’t experienced yet.

Her steps were light even in her state. Jamie didn’t turn around to meet her, just wiped his tears from his cheeks and clenched his jaw.

“Ye’ve always come here whenever ye’re fash’d.”

Jenny stood by his brother and stared into the stream.

“I hate it. I hate not bein able to do oniething. It juist…“

“It’s tearing your guts out. I ken.”

Her hand settled on his arm and squeezed it tightly once, reassuringly. He felt the tears resuming their path all the way down his face, then jumping on to his shirt.

“I dinna ken what happened to her. But I ken what happened to ye and not bein with ye tore my guts out,” she whispered.

“I juist… I juist want to go wherever she is and take her back wi’ me.”

“Then maybe ye shuid.“

Both stared into each other’s eyes, Jamie from his height and Jenny under her mass of black curls. So different and yet, so similar and understanding of each other feelings. She nodded quietly and interlocked her arm with his, pulling him slowly back home.

 

* * *

 

Facing that ominous door was one of the hardest things he had ever done. Jamie felt his sister’s presence behind him, and he also noticed when she left him to confront his task on his own. His hand landed on the wood, polished by decades of use, and slid all the way down to the knob to access the bedroom.

The hearth was crackling, throwing a cozy light on the scene. Claire was awake, with her back supported by pillows, staring at the ceiling of the bed. The noise of the door closing into its frame draw her attention. He could feel his heart break for the thousandth time when she covered her ears and curved into a crying ball, so small and vulnerable in the middle of the blankets her sister had placed upon her.

Jamie bit his lip and overcame how rejected he felt. Not knowing what to do, or how to behave, he just closed the distance between them and sat on the bed. Claire turned violently and jumped out of it, a pale vision in her white shift, and tried to reach the door. But weak as she was after all she had been through, Jamie passed by her and got between her and her purpose. Unable to restrain himself any longer, he grabbed her arms while she wept and fought him, falling to their knees.

“Claire, Claire!!”

Not willing to contain, he shook her, trying to force to look at him, but all he managed to get out of her was an unintelligible whisper that grew progressively louder, enough for him to finally understand.

“You’re dead… Don’t torment me… Please, I beg you… You’re dead…”

She kept fighting him off, but Jamie’s grip was even harder after discerning her words.

“Mo chridhe, look at me… Look at me!”

He grabbed her face and made her look into his eyes. Hers wondered around his face, as if staring at something right past it, but Jamie persevered until her gaze finally settled on him. Tears started to flow more heavily and her sobs were heartbreaking.

“You died… He told me, every day. You died, why do you torment me like this?”

“Mo nighean donn, I’m not dead. Can’t you feel me? Can’t you?” His voice trembled at the sight of so much grief and distress. Losing his words, he threw her into his arms, holding her tight against his chest, a boneless body that accepted the embrace as if it didn’t have any other possibility.

Jamie buried his face into her hair, inhaling her scent, allowing all the sorrow to finally flow out of his heart and weeping silently.

Then her hands came back to live.

Light as a dove wing, first one and then the other, they tentatively climbed from her lap to his back, as if recognizing unknown territory. As if holding him for the first time in her life. They went over his back, gaining confidence, tracing the scars through the fabric of his shirt. She pulled back slightly, enough for her to see his face. Hers was a mask of utter disbelief and unexpected astonishment. Her fingertips reached his cheeks, feeling the moistness of his tears against the satin golden beard that had begun to cover them. Slowly, they traveled all the way to his temples, caressing the curls that stuck to his skin, dampened. Then they descended to land on his lips, soft as the touch of a butterfly, tracing them before a way of relief washed over her. She gasped.

“J… Jaime?”

He smiled slowly, a sad smile that contained every emotion that had been latent inside of him, and nodded.

“I’m here, mo chridhe.”

Claire’s brow furrowed, still not willing to fully accept the reality that displayed before her, looking for one final proof. Slowly, painfully slowly, she closed the distance between their faces, and grazed his lips with hers. He felt her jolt in his arms at the touch, staying still for a second, before throwing her arms around his neck and pulling him with a strength he didn’t know she had. Jamie held her even closer while his mouth welcomed her taste, the silkiness of her lips between his, the smell of her skin under his nose. That kiss said all they couldn't put into words. 

He pulled her away carefully to watch her, soaking in that moment of happiness, the first after too many misfortunes.

“Ist m'eudial, cuir stad airdo rànail - cha tig cron sam bit ort”.


	14. Lallybroch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After all the trepidation of the last chapters, hope you enjoy some peace :)
> 
> At least for now, that is...

Days went by and Claire started to improve evidently under Jenny’s constant supervision and Jamie’s indulgence. The three of them established an unspoken routine. Every morning, Jamie would serve Claire’s breakfast in her bed and stayed with her until she finished it. He proved to be a relentless guardian and didn’t allow her to leave a single spoonful of porridge, claiming that Mrs. Crook knew perfectly well how much food she needed to eat in order to get her strength back. But everyday, the tray he carried to her bedside would always have a small bouquet of wild flowers. Forget-me-nots, bluebells, bell heathers and gorse made her smile and blush, and make Jamie’s ears turn a deep shade of red.

Jenny would take over Jamie, almost kicking him out of the room in a good mood, to help Claire clean herself with warm water and a homemade soap scented with clove oil and marigold petals. She would comb her hair vigorously and leave her curls glossy and lustrous, before proceeding with the most unpleasant part of the day. Lying on her belly, Claire would quietly accept Jenny’s treatment of her back wounds. They looked better thanks to her cares and Claire’s suggestions of using a poultice made of jasmine, magnolia bark and garlic. The smell was dreadful, but she could tell the slashes were scabbing nicely thanks to it.

The rest of the day would go by in relative peace. Ian had placed a good amount of books on her beside table and she would read them avidly, sitting by the window wrapped in a warm wool plaited blanket. Jenny or Jamie would provide her with the rest of the meals, usually sitting by her side and keeping her up to date with the common events of the estate, trying to keep her mind busy and away from diving into those painful memories she’d probably have to face in the nearest future. But for then, getting her body back to health was imperative in order to restore her soul later.

That morning started quite similarly as the last ones. The first rays of light leaked through the window. An orange sun emerged behind the hills and mounts, already turning their grass from green to a goldener shade. Even in the first days of November, the sky still kept its blueness, in a more indigo hue. Claire stretched her arms carefully, the new skin on her back healing and tight. She sat up in bed, using the feathery pillows Jenny had placed for her comfort, and sighed contently. Or at least, as contently as she could. Those first minutes of the day were always the same. The joy of waking up in a safe place, the anticipation before Jamie’s morning visit, and the sudden restlessness of unwanted memories crossing her mind, as clouds concealing the sun. Usually by the time her thoughts began to wander in the darkest direction, the door would open slowly and Jamie’s red mass of curls would appear through the crack.

When the creaking of the door announced his presence, Claire smiled and looked at the door. First his mop of bright hair, then his bright blue eyes to check if she was awake, then the rest of his broad body carrying the usual tray with food. The smell got to her nose and her stomach grunted in return, causing Jamie to raise an eyebrow and crook a smile.

“So yer belly has learnt to appreciate the delicacy parritch is…”

Claire readjusted against the pillows and let out a shy chuckle.

“Apparently my stomach is more of a Scot than I’ll ever be. Must be inheritance from a distant relative,” she said in mocking thoughtfulness.

Jamie placed carefully the tray on her lap and, for the first time, he approached her closer and deposited a soft kiss on top of her head. He lingered there for a second, inhaling the pleasant scent of her locks, before resuming his usual routine and pulling a chair closer to sit by her side. She had held still, almost not breathing, while his lips caressed her hair, before picking the flowers from the tray and smelling them.

“Begonias today? They’re gorgeous, Jamie, thank you.” The red petals spiraled from the yellow center of the flower, silky and velvety.

“Aye… I’ll begin to repeat myself soon, Sassenach, I dinna think there’s a single flower in Lallybroch that hasn’t visited you yet…”

She smiled at the sight of his red ears and the slight blush under the light freckles of her cheekbones. In peaceful company, she began to devour the porridge realizing that maybe her stomach was right. Strength had begun to grow back inside of her and probably the rich diet the Frasers presented her with was to be blamed of it. Her appetite didn’t go unnoticed and Jamie lay back on his chair satisfied.

“Ye care for a walk, Sassenach?”

She looked into his piercing blue eyes and saw the slight impatience behind his usually contained expression. She tilted her head and swallowed.

“I think I’d love to."

Jamie’s face lighted up with a smile that drew another one in Claire’s. They stared quietly into each other’s eyes, savoring the moment, a minute where the outside world posed no threat to any of them, where they were just a man and a woman enjoying each other’s company without a second intention, without having to fill up the silence with polite talk about things none of them really cared about. Slowly, Jamie’s hand crept on the blankets, as close to the border of the mattress as it could. Instinctively, her hand began a similar path with an opposite end: to meet his halfway. When her fingertips timidly reached his, the touch was almost feathery, before advancing to explore the planes and creases of each other’s hand. Claire sighed, the same sigh she’d make sitting in the tall fluffy grass after a day long walk. She blushed again under his gaze, attached to her amber eyes as if there was nothing else in the world worthy of a second look, but not wanting to steal them away. Her lips parted slightly, his glance betraying him when they attracted it inexorably. The new path of his attention made her cheeks turn a deeper shade of red and her chest raise and fall rapidly, her heart pounding inside of it.

“Ye can lea’ noo, lovebird.” Jenny’s voice acted as a bucket of ice cold water thrown at them, moving their hands away and lowering their eyes. “I’m gaun to help Claire with her dressings and ye hae no business being here. Off with ye.”

His redheaded over six feet tall blushed to the hairline and left tripping over the chair he had been sitting on just a second before. Claire and Jenny couldn’t help a chuckle when the door finally closed behind Jamie.

“You shouldn’t tease him like that,” Claire said while pulling her shift up and sitting on the bed with her back to Jenny. She started to take the bandages off and softly feel the scabs. “How are they?”

“This marigold ointment ye told me to make is working ferlies. Scabs are already falling. In no time ye’ll be good as new.” Jenny applied the ointment and a herbal scent flowed around the room. “Ye’ll manage to busk on yer own. Let me ken if ye need any help.” She rubbed her hands together and stood up. “I left ye clean dress.“

Claire looked over the chair near the window and saw a beautiful light blue dress, with white lace in the neckline and the hem of the sleeves. She turned around to thank Jenny, but the door had already closed behind her.

Jenny almost tripped into her brother, pacing in the corridor like a man waiting for his wife to give birth. She tried to bypass him, but he was quicker and grabbed her arm, forcing her to stop.

“Dinna call me thae things in front of Claire!” He hissed between his teeth, facing her closely.

“Why? Are ye telling me ye’re not heid over heels for her?” She stated seriously. His ears went back to red once again, and he released her arm. “That’s better.”

“It’s not yer place to tell.”

“No, it isna.” She said pointedly. They stared at each other defiantly before she arched an eyebrow, nodded curtly and went downstairs.

Jamie snorted, annoyed at his sister’s words. Not because she was wrong. That was precisely what bothered him the most. But Claire… She had gone through hell and back, and talking to her about his feelings would be an exercise of utter selfishness. No, he couldn’t tell her how his heart raced at the mere thought of her presence, or how he could recognize by her scent if she had been in a room earlier. He couldn’t tell her how eagerly he awoke every morning and how he urged Mrs. Crook to get her breakfast ready, how he always paced around the estate looking for a new flower he hadn’t treated her with yet. There was no way for him to confess how he sleep eluded him at night with the memory of her kisses and her waist between his hands, or how desire pulsated through his entire body when he remembered that morning in her bed, the taste of her lips and the softness of her mouth.

Maybe one day she’d be healed enough for him to tell her, if not all of that, at least part of it. But not that morning.

The storm of thoughts that flashed his mind collapsed when he turned around, compelled by the sound of her door closing. It took a second for him to snap out of it and close the distance between them, offering his arm for her to support herself. Her sight was a dream of blue contrasting against the pale skin of her neck and arms. Her chest was discreetly covered up but enough skin showed for his appreciation. The soft, round mounts of her breasts were tightly compressed agains the fabric, and he had to restrain himself from sliding his fingertips to feel their smoothness.

When her hand entwined with his arm and lightly settled there, a wave of happiness caught him off-balance. He was astonished by how small things had become milestones in his days. Bringing her flowers, telling her about the farm or his favorite horse, feeling her hand relying on him in every sense possible… It downed on him then and there: he could spend the rest of his life waiting for the smalls things.

Before leaving the warmth of the house, Jamie pulled a wool shawl over and wrapped her tightly in it. She stared at him inquisitively, with a smile hidden in the corner of her mouth.

“We dinna want ye to catch a cold,” he mustered as he finished. He squeezed her arms under the balmy fabric and offered his arm back.

It was one of the last summery days of the year. Even though the breeze was chill, the sun shined bright in the blue sky without a cloud to be worried about. The fields spread before their eyes, sinuously melting into the horizon, with the tips of the grass stems dancing in the wind. Claire closed her eyes and lifted her face to the sun, soaking in its glow. Jamie looked at her and smiled.

“There isna gaun to be many more days like this, Sassenach, we might as well enjoy it.”

Their pace was slow, mostly due to her not being completely recovered and having spend the last few days in bed. Jamie was awaiting any sign of discomfort or fatigue, but Claire’s stride was steady and determined.

“He told me about you,” she said with a clear voice. In the light of day, her past suffering had suddenly become more manageable, more bearable and easier to confront. Jamie’s arm tensed under her hand, and she squeezed it in reassurance.

“Ye dinna need to…”

“He came everyday. Every single day, sat in front of me and told me the same story, again and again. I felt as if I had been there, in the crowd, watching him flog you. Sometimes I could even smell your blood. It… He broke me. He never laid a hand on me before you got there, but he didn’t need to. He would only reminisce with exacerbating detail. Then he would ask me about your scars. He called them a masterpiece. _His_ masterpiece. He asked me if I had seen them, or touched them, as if he knew I had. And then… He would jump to the night I escaped Leoch. Ask me if I saw you die, and how I felt when he killed you. How it was for me to picture you in the middle of the forest, rotting away. Those days, whenever I closed my eyes, I would see you lying there, lifeless. Or tied to the post on the gallows. At some point my mind began to wander, to run away from it all. I thought I would end up crazy before he killed me, if that was going to be the end of it. But it wasn’t.”

Claire stopped and faced Jamie. His eyes were eluding her, lost somewhere between the grass under their feet and the horizon. She grabbed his chin tenderly and lifted it until their gazes met. When she saw his eyes filled with unshed tears, her hand sailed up to his cheek and rested there, caressing his high cheekbone with her thumb.

“I haven’t thanked you properly for what you did, Jamie. You saved more than my life that night. You saved _my soul_.“

“It was my fault, Claire. If I hadn’t followed ye, if I hadn’t... kissed ye…” His voice faltered with guilt and she hushed, holding his face with both hands.

“Don’t say that. First of all, because it isn’t true. Randall didn’t need another excuse to hurt me than me running away from him. You… you don’t know how much you following me meant to me. I was actually about to give up and come back with you, _you stubborn Scot_ ,” she smiled and let her hands drop back into her lap. Then, she lowered her tone, flushed. “You don’t know how much that kiss meant to me, and how I held to its memory. I told you, Jamie Fraser. You saved more than my life.”

He stood there as Claire resumed their walk, staring into her back and barely holding the reins of his wild emotions. Realizing he wasn’t following her, she stopped and looked over her shoulder, smiling invitingly, reaching back to him with her hand and waiting, patiently, until he composed himself and offered back his arm.

Lallybroch had a breathtaking beauty. Surrounded by hills and large pastures, the main building towered over the surroundings, but not with a threatening appearance, more like a worried mother looking after her children. It instilled peace and serenity in whoever stared at its robust walls, flecked by narrow windows. It was rustic, for sure, but the charm it possessed was incomparable with the iciness of the rich manor she had stayed in for the past months. It felt more like a home than a temporary shelter.

Claire allowed herself to be carried away by her imagination, boosted by the scents of nature, the sounds of the never still farm and the heat of his skin under her palm. She saw herself helping Jenny with the daily chores, learning how to milk the cows, feeding the hens and the small chickens, chasing around a rebellious lamb.

_Waiting for him after a day hunting…_

Seeing him cross the gates of Lallybroch with a game over his shoulders, sweat sticking his curls to his forehead, dirt speckling his shirt, a radiant smile on his lips when he saw her waiting by the threshold. A small redheaded boy running and hugging his leg, laughing with dimples on his cheeks.

But it was, for certain, no more than a dream.

_He’s an outlaw, I’m an English woman running away from a captain and there’s no way we could do it. There’s simply no way…_


	15. The struggle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! Life gets in the way sometimes, but I hope it was worth waiting.

When happiness extends its tendrils around a life, the smallest details are filled with joy and a sense of infallibility accompanies every little action, every breath of air. Food tastes better, the feathers of the mattress suddenly become fluffier, the morning sun carries a newborn day filled with expectation and secret smiles. A feeling of belonging settles in the soul, translating awkwardness into acknowledgment, misplacement into acceptance.

A soul takes longer to heal than a body, and its subtleties are far more difficult to reach for a caring touch or a preoccupied gaze. Claire’s body had been healed, and her soul had been carried along in the process. For weeks, her back had improved until wounds turned to scars and her strength was regained, enough to start helping Jenny with the farm chores, even more as her due day approached and her belly stood in the way of most physical tasks. Her English guest proved herself to be rather useful and obliging, always around her whenever she needed assistance and even before she had the time to ask for it. Her presence was a silent companionship and it gave Jenny the chance to examine her and obtain her own conclusions, instead of guiding herself by her clearly biased brother’s.

Under her gaze, Claire drew herself as a thoughtful woman. Whenever they tended to the animals, she always made sure she had everything they were going to need nearby. She didn’t mind getting her hands dirty, but she had them back to perfect cleanness the minute they returned to the house. When one of the goats gave birth, she looked after the kid, made sure the mother was unharmed and didn’t seemed squeamish around the sight of blood and fluids. She even prepared a warm herbal bath to keep the animal safe from infection, washing her while tenderly caressing her wool. Cooking was clearly not her strong suit, but when meal time was close, she’d always be around the kitchen, trying not to hinder Mrs. Crook’s and Jenny’s work, but providing them with all the cooperation she could. Several recipes were improved by her recommendations regarding the use of herbs, and Ian’s leg hadn’t been less sore since they could remember, thanks to her infusions and poultices.

Jenny felt protective of her younger brother. She had almost lost Jamie more times that she wanted to acknowledge, and having him back home was something she wasn’t ready to give up. Rescuing Claire hadn’t brought consequences yet, but whenever she’d leave the house, she stared at the road for a second, almost waiting for the redcoats to storm in and take him away. For her, it was a matter of time before that Randall captain would come to reclaim Claire, and probably kill Jamie in the meantime. He was a Scot, and without his laird’s permission, it would be hard for the English to arrest him without proof. But Claire wasn’t, and as comfortably as she had fallen into routine in the past weeks, she would always be an outlander. A _sassenach_ , as she had heard her brother called her, at the mercy of the British authorities.

It didn’t took long for Jamie to realize how much he had missed being home. Helping Ian with the farm chores, cutting wood for the fireplaces, bringing water from the well for the baths and the kitchen, tending to the horses and looking into the ledgers hadn’t been his tasks for quite some time, and getting back into the pace of the manor felt like stepping into an old, comfortable shoe. Some of the tenants got word of his arrival, and timidly began to visit him, carrying small presents and a welcoming smile. The young laird hadn’t been to Lallybroch for too long, and his presence was appreciated by all his people.

Jamie received them with worry for the first days, but one evening, while they were accommodating the horses for the night, his brother-in-law reassured him when he vocalized his fears.

“Not a single man in the estate wad dare to sell ye, Jamie,” he patted his back before scattering some hay for the horses. “Ye’re safe here. _Both_ of ye,” Ian pointed when his words were met by a sideways look.

“Mmphm.”

“Oniewey, Jamie… Dinna ye think ’tis time ye settle th—”

“Ach, Claire! Guid to see _ye_ …” Jamie interrupted him sharply, his eyes piercing Ian’s for a second before driving them back to her.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” Claire smiled a bit bewildered at the scene. “Jenny sent me for you, Ian. She says the water pump is stuck again and something about you not having really fixed it the last time… And then a lot of, well… curse”, she mouthed.

Ian grimaced and left the hayfork against the wooden wall of the stables before grabbing the handle of the cane attached to his wood leg.

“Please, if I dinna make it, tell my bairn ‘bout me,” he joked before limping out of their sight.

Claire couldn’t help but chuckle. Jamie took the chance to stare at her, soaking in her sight. Her cheeks were pinker, always brushed by some curl that had escaped her bun. Vigor had returned to her body and the weakness that had pestered her during the first days seemed to be long forgotten. Her eyes darted back to him and it was his time to blush, caught in the act of admiring her silently. She hesitated for a second, before walking up to him, her hands inside of her apron looking for something. Jamie’s stance tensed, sensitive to her proximity, fighting the urge to hold her in his arms and kiss her to oblivion. Something he hadn’t done since the night she recognized him again and something he had been craving since the second their lips parted that very night.

In the sweet, cold air fed by the animals, Claire sighed and produce a small piece of bread, offering it to Jamie. He furrowed his brow and looked at her questioningly.

“This… Well, Mrs. Crook has been helping me this afternoon with my cooking. I made my first bannocks, thought you might want to try them,” she explained unconfident.

Jamie smiled slowly and took the bannock, biting into it wolfishly.

“Guid, I’m star—”

“Wait!”

She tried to warn him, but it was already too late. Jamie’s smile faltered when he tried to champ it, only to find his mouth filled by a monstrous mass of bland flour, too hard to swallow without chewing it and too rubbery to try to unstick it of his teeth. Her face drop, seeing him struggling to deal with her culinary creation.

“I knew it… I think I had the proportions wrong, but—”

“Dinna fash, Sassenach, this—“ Jamie smiled again and with all the strength he had and a silent prayer not to choke, he swallowed hardly part of it. “’Tis the best bannock I’ve ever had.“ He swallowed the rest of it. “Truly.”

Jamie nodded reassuringly and looked around. There was a small bucket with water, placed there to calm the thirst after working at the stables. He hollowed his hands and grabbed some water to drink, passing the last traces of dough and sighing when his mouth felt clean again.

“Long day, ye ken.“

They stared at each other for a moment before laughter erupted from both of them.

“Oh my… Jamie, I’m so sorry,” she apologized with tears of joy in her eyes, unable to stop guffawing.

“’Tis fine, Sassenach, I’ll juist stay away from bannocks during dinner…”

The distance between them had been gradually disappearing until they were facing each other. Hearty laughs faded, and they stared again into each other’s eyes. Amber brown meeting pale turquoise, losing in the depths that peered into them. His hand dabbled into her hair, placing a lost lock behind her ear and caressing the side of her cheek in the meantime. She sighed at the touch, and her eyes dropped to his lips for a brief moment, before turning them back. This almost imperceptible invitation didn’t pass unnoticed to Jamie, whose other hand tentative looked for Claire’s. When they fingers met with the last light of the dying day, they intertwined in silence, as if they were so used to it that there was no other possible movement. Taking one step closer, their bodies almost met completely, she tilting her head upwards to be able to hold his gaze. His fingers traveled to her nape, fingertips caressing the gap between the muscles, causing her spine to shiver in pleasure.

Their breaths mixed in the closeness, a space slowly erased when Jamie’s forehead rested against hers, his nose caressing hers tenderly. He closed his eyes, fearful of what they could show. The depth of the desire he felt for Claire, the need she woke in his body, the utter craving he felt whenever she was close to him, it all lived and throbbed in his sight. Depriving himself of it only increased his other senses. The smell of her skin, a mix of primrose and the scents of the kitchen. The touch of her palm, soft, welcoming, warm. Knowing her lips were only an inch away from his made his heart flutter in his chest, but still, a fight between what he wanted and what he was afraid she would feel took place in his mind. What if his touch reminded her of Randall's? What if she felt dishonored? What if…

That trail of thought got lost the moment her other hand reached up to his curls, warily at first, then more certain. Her fingers weaved and caressed his hair, mirroring what he had just done a minute earlier. A sigh of content abandoned his lips at the contact, and he made his decision. The slight separation between their mouths began to close, her hand tightening her grip on his curls, his setting calmly on the back of her neck.

“'Tis dinner time!!”

Jenny’s thundering voice broke the spell and startled them. Their eyes snapped open and Claire took one step backwards, breaking the connection between their hands and longingly staring at him before turning away and hurry out of the stables.

_Ifrinn an Diabhuil…_

 

* * *

 

 

When Jamie entered the house, Jenny’s voice welcomed him from the kitchen, her tone lecturing as usual.

“Ye better no’ get that horse aidle on my carpets if ye dinna want to clean it yersel, brither.”

He looked at his boots and recoiled to the entrance, scrubbing their soles against doormat, before resuming his way. The house smelled of stew and herbs, and he followed the aromatic trail to the kitchen where Mrs. Crook and his sister were busy finishing the meal. Jamie surveyed the place and grabbed a piece of cheese from the pantry, stuffing his mouth with it before making room for some bread to accompany it. Jenny looked at him sideways without stopping her tasks and arched an eyebrow.

“Ye look as hungry as ye used to be when ye were threttan. I remember ye comin’ into the kitchen and eatin’ oniething edible.” Jamie smiled with his mouth full and shrugged.

“I’m still a lad, ye ken… I’ve to grow.”

“What ye’ve to grow is the guts to propose to the lass,” she said nonchalantly while his brother’s face lost all color. “She canna stay wi’ us for the rest o’ her life unwedded—”

Her voice got quieted by Jamie choking on the bread, shooting daggers at his sister while his face turned from pale to red. Mrs. Crook handed him some water while keeping at her business and Jamie chugged it at once, trying to regain his breath while Jenny laughed under hers.

“If I’ve to see ye lookin’ at her wi’ those puppy eyes agin I’ll deliver yer niece on the spot.“

Jamie left the kitchen still trying not to choke and leaned against the banister. From there, his eyes wandered into the dining room, where Claire was alone getting the table ready. Watching her unaware of his gaze brought memories from that first morning she had adventured into the woods, looking for some herbs to help him heal his wounded leg. The fluency of her movements, the care she used to settle every dish, every glass, the attention to detail she exhibited that paid out in the beautifully arranged table. Of course he could see himself married to that woman. He’d be lying to his very soul if he denied it. But he was aware of what a poor choice for a husband he was. Who would marry a man with the executioner’s noose hanging over his head? He had been accustomed to the idea over time, but he resisted the thought of bringing a loved one into a such a life. His days in Lallybroch were counted, and then what? Sleeping out in the open? Living of what the land could provide? Jamie clenched his jaw. No, as much as he wanted her, he wouldn’t condemn her into an exiled life.

His brother-in-law passed by him on his way to the dining room and stopped when he saw his grim expression. Following the direction of his gaze before Jamie looked at him, Ian discovered his trail of thought without much effort.

“Jenny talked to ye, aye?” He whispered confidentially and leaned against the banister himself. Jamie nodded curtly and lowered his eyes. “She’s a Fraser, that’s for sure. I tald her to leave ye be, but ye ken her.”

Jamie snorted and both of them went silent when Claire left the dining room on her way to the kitchen, looking at them puzzled for a second.

“Aye, I ken her.“ Ian sighed and patted his own thigh, massaging the tired muscle.

“Ye Frasers are stubborn like mules, but that disna make ye less right. I dinna ken what’s stoppin’ ye from talkin’ to the lass. But she’s still here.”

“That disna—”

“She’s. Still. Here,” Ian pointed staring directly into Jamie’s eyes, not letting him finish the sentence. He grabbed his shoulders and shook them gently, trying to instill some reasoning into him. “Clearly there’s _something_ makin’ her stay.”

But when Jamie’s blue sight focused back on him, the expression of his face talked more than the words he couldn’t say. Ian’s hands dropped slowly back into his lap.

“Ye think ye winna be a fine guidman for her, is it?” His eyes watered suddenly and the tension of his jaw became more visible. “Ach, brither… Ye’re a cuif if ye dinna see how different she thinks.” Ian smiled, patted his shoulder and walked wearily into the dinning room, followed by Jenny and Claire carrying the trays and tureens.

Jamie stood there, shocked by Ian’s words. Was he really that blind? Of course he knew Claire was partial to him. That much he had fathomed. But one thing was stealing a kiss in the middle of the night and a very different one wanting to get married to that person. He stood from the banister as Claire was placing the tray on the table, and she looked over her shoulder straight into him, smiling so radiantly he felt his heart skipping a beat.

_Ye bawheid... She must think ye’re slow._

With a new resolution in mind, he squared his shoulders and strode in the room, sitting at the head of the table. They served the food, the smells impregnating the air and making their stomachs groan after a long day working. In peaceful silence, the four of them started to eat. Unaware of the kick fight that was taking place under the table between the two siblings, Claire nipped her soup wondering about the dull thuds that sprinkled the otherwise quiet evening. Jenny and Jamie looked askance at each other, and suddenly, Jenny dropped the spoon on her plate.

“Tell me Claire, noo that yer enga—”

“Claire, would ye mind if we spoke later?” Jamie cut his sister on her tracks. “In private?”

She looked at both of them, bewildered by the sudden exchange and the strange looks they were exchanging. Actually, Jamie’s words seemed to be more directed to his sister than to her, and if he hadn’t specified her name out loud, she would’ve thought he was talking to Jenny. Who, by then, looked like the cat that ate the cream.

“Of course, Jamie. Is it your leg? Is it bothering you?“ Claire asked with worry clouding her brow.

“No, dinna fash, Sassenach. I’m juist fine.”

When they finished dinner, in the tensest atmosphere Claire remembered since she had arrived to Lallybroch, Jenny took care of clearing the table and excused Claire with a nod and a knowing smile.

Jamie was already waiting for her outside. When Claire stepped beside him, he took his wool cape and wrapped it around her carefully. It had the Fraser colors, and that particular Fraser’s smell. She thanked silently for the warmth it provided, when Jamie unexpectedly grabbed her hand and intertwined his fingers with hers before starting to walk.

The moon was almost full, and even though the night was complete, its silver light was enough for them to see where the surroundings. The walls of Lallybroch were covered in an ethereal glow, and the green pastures that spread as far as the sight reached had turned to an argent hue. The only noise that reverberated in the silence was the clump of their feet against the grass and the tuneful crickets that sang like a choir of tiny percussionists.

After a few minutes walking, they seemed to reach their destination. An ancient, wide oak that spread its branches over the stream nearby the estate crowned over them. Sighing deeply, like the warrior who faces his hardest battle, the one before the sweetest victory, he turned to face Claire, grabbing her other hand in the process. She was used to his tenderness, to him cherishing her in the most minuscule things. But his hold then was firm, steady, resolute.

“When we were juist bairns, my older brother Willie died. He was supposed to become laird of Lallybroch when he came o’ age. Instead, he died of smallpox and my parents grieved, deeply. I always looked up to him. Sawney, he used to call me,” his mouth crooked a smile. “One day we were here fishing. I wisna older than six and he was eleven, but I remember his words as if he had juist said them. Listen to yer heart, he said. It’s smairter than that thick heid ye’ve.”

Claire controlled the urge to laugh at the second part of the sentence, but a whimsical smile crept up to her lips.

“I think I’ve listened to my heid longer than I should've. Because my heart kens the truth. And it’s screaming it out loud.” His grip tightened, his thumbs caressing the back of her hands. “I love ye, Claire. And I’d be honored to call you my wife, every day, for the rest of my life.”


	16. The union

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick (and hopefully pleasant) update!

“I love ye, Claire. And I’d be honored to call you my wife, every day, for the rest of my life.”

_I love ye, Claire._

The words echoed in her ears. _Love_. What a foreign concept.

 

* * *

 

His hand felt cold and limp in her hers, despite the fever that had made itself at ease in his weakened body. The corners of his mouth were white and cracked, covered in dry saliva. Claire dampened a small piece of fabric in the nearby basin and cleaned them. The contact forced his eyes open, but glassy as they were, his gaze seemed to be more focused in whatever it is to come after our time in this world, rather than the present that was swiftly escaping. In the middle of the mist that precedes the path to the other side, the old man was able to focus his pupils into her niece’s and hint a pained smile. His lips parted then, trying to form a sound, but parched as they were, only a hiss came from them.

Claire rushed to grab some water and placed the cup carefully for her uncle to drink. He coughed, throwing more water away than he was able to drink, and gasped for air grabbing her hand in the process.

“I won’t… leave this world… until you’re safe, my dear,” he whispered with the last strength that inhabited his dying body. Claire stole her eyes away and shook her head. What he was asking was impossible and yet, he refused to allow her any other course of action.

“I can’t marry him, uncle. We… I barely know him.“

“He comes from a go—” A new coughing fit turned his face to red. His breath sounded gravelly, as he tried to inhale as deep as he could. “A good family, that is. Military. Listen to me, damn it!”

Claire was bewildered by the sudden pressure in her hand, and looked him in the eye.

“You’re alone in this world. I’ve left you with nothing. You need the protection of his name, and the comfort of a family.”

“That’s not my fa—”

“It will be. It _has_ to. Claire, my days are counted. Hell, my _hours_ are. I can’t leave you unsafe, abandoned. Please, _please_ ,” he squeezed her hand again. “Promise me you’ll marry John. Promise me you will love him, and cherish him. Promise me, Claire Elizabeth, for the memory of your mother.”

Her amber eyes got clouded and she blinked the tears away. Her mother. Barely a dim image in the back of her mind, a swirl of pale silk and dark curls, a cold gravestone she hadn’t visited for years. But her brother Lambert had been the one to raise Claire after both her parents passed away when she was just a child. They had traveled the world together, never staying longer than a few months in each location: France, Spain, Italy, Prussia… She had grown up basically a nomad, and the idea of settling down and establishing a home presented as both a wonder and a nuisance.

Slowly, Claire nodded and the pressure of his hand receded.

“I’ll do it, but I won’t promise to love him. I can’t.”

When she looked in his eyes, eyelashes wet with unshed tears, they were already staring into eternity.

 

* * *

 

“Claire?”

Jamie’s voice tore her from remembrance and grounded back into reality.

“Do you?“ She asked, inquiring into his clear gaze.

“Do I what?”

“Love me. You said you love me.” Jamie’s brows furrowed, puzzled and impatient.

“Aye, Sassenach, I do. Truly.” His hands gripped hers reassuringly, and one of them traveled up to her cheek, caressing it tenderly. “Can’t ye tell?”, he whispered full of emotion.

_So this is what it looks like. This is what it feels to be… loved._

Claire leaned into his hand and closed her eyes, inhaling the sweet and musky scent of his palm. But when she opened them back, Jamie was still looking at her troubled, a deep line in his brow she felt tempted to erase with a fingertip.

“You can say no, ye ken?” His voice, not louder than a murmur, reached her filled with anxiousness and resignation. “You could still stay in Lallybroch, we wad figure something out. Maybe talk to the MacKenzies and see if they still need a healer, I ken Collum was happy wi’ ye while ye were in Le—”

Jamie’s nervous diatribe found an abrupt end in Claire’s lips. Surprise kept him from responding to her kiss immediately, but after recognizing the intention behind it, his arms enveloped her figure, surrounding her waist and lifting her from the floor, making her laugh in his mouth. It wasn’t a passionate kiss like the ones they had shared before. It was filled with relief, acceptance and peace. A peace like they had never imagined, not in the lives of an outlaw and a wanderer. When Claire pulled back slightly, their foreheads still grazing each other and their breaths mixed, she smiled radiantly.

“Yes, Jamie Fraser, I will be your wife, everyday, for the rest of my life.”

Unable to make a sound, afraid that it would unleash a stream of joyful tears, Jamie grabbed her hand and placed it on his chest, above his heart. The strong, quick beating said all that he was unable to say in that moment, and Claire understood how it spoke without words. He stared deeply into her eyes, trying to confide in them all his emotions, all the love he had treasured for her since that first day. Her smile returned it all to him.

The house was quiet when they crossed the threshold, her hand resting inside his palm, but as they entered the studio where they used to spend some time after dinner every day, discussing matters of the estate, reading a book in silence or mending clothes that needed the attention of some thread and needle, the image that awaited for them erased the smiles from their faces.

On a low table there were four glasses with whisky, clearly set by Jenny in anticipation of the news they’d probably bring after their exchange. But on the divan a man laid, bloodied, while Jenny tended to him and Ian broke some linen in order to prepare bandages.

“Murtagh!” Jamie shrieked, leaving Claire’s side and striding towards his godfather.

“Dinna fash, lad. Juist some bruises and such,“ he stated trying not to flinch as Jenny cleaned his wounds. Claire promptly kneeled next to Jenny and rolled up her sleeves, examining the wounds. There was a gash… no, two gashes in his torso and smaller injuries in his arms and hands. She took the needle that Jenny offered her and began stitching one of the larger cuts already cleaned. Murtagh winced and sighed.

“What happen’d?” Jamie asked, his knuckles white as he clenched his fists.

“I was on my way here from Leoch and I saw a fire in Broch Mordha. Redcoats,” he spat the name in disgust. “Two hooses almost burnt to the ground. I stopped ’em from burnin’ the third.”

Jenny shook her head, astonished, while bandaging his arm.

“But why? Why wad the redcoats risk to come this faur into our lands?”

Murtagh remained silent, but his eyes were placed on Claire. She looked up when the sewing was done, and saw the faces around her.

“He’s harassing the tenants so ye return her to him,” Murtagh said plainly to Jamie.

“While she’s promised to him, legally he can claim her back, Jamie,” Ian explained, sitting down and massaging his thigh.

“She isna promised to him any longer,” Jamie barked, shaking with anger.

“Ye ken I’m happy for ye, brither, but that willna stop him. Ye ken Randall,” Jenny pointed while she began stitching the other wound. “He winna stop until _ye_ stop him.”

“Aye, I ken.” Jamie paced around the room like a caged animal.

“Ye need to handfast, Jamie, tonight,” Ian proposed. “We dinna hae time for a proper wedding, but in these lands handfasting is a legal bond and we can use it to stop that bastard.”

“What’s a— a handfast?” Claire asked timidly.

“When a couple can’t wed properly, a handfast ritual is performed. ’Tis as legal as a wedding, but ye hae to marry within a year and a day. It has to be public and…” Ian suddenly blushed and clear his throat. “Well, consummated, of course.“

Jamie’s eyes darted to her, who had stood up and was cleaning her hands, distraught. When their eyes met, she saw the frustration he was experiencing. But in a couple of steps, Claire took his face in her hands and stared at him, intently.

“If this is what it takes to keep Randall at bay, we will handfast.”

“But—”

“I know.”

“There’s more to it,” Murtagh said, resting against some pillows that helped him stand straighter. “Ye need to lea’, lad. We can show him the contract, but if ye’re here, who kens what he’ll do. And dinna forget ye still hae a price on yer heid. If ye’re around when the redcoats come, it winna be pretty. Ye need to flee Scotland.”

Jamie grunted a curse under his breath. Handfasting. That was an ancient tradition, one those days almost nobody recurred to. He wanted them to have a real wedding, with his family and friends or, at least, with some sort of celebration, a way to show everybody how deeply he loved that woman. But signing a piece of paper just to prove, for once and for all, that Claire was his and Randall couldn’t do a single thing about it wasn’t what he had had in mind. No, he had pictured Claire with a beautifully embroidered dress, flowers in her hair and him wearing the Fraser tartan, the one his father had worn in his own wedding.

He nodded curtly at his godfather and Ian stood up, going through a pile of papers looking for a clean parchment where he could begin to write the contract. It was a simple statement. A few witnesses claiming to have been present during a handfasting ceremony between…

“I’m sorry, Claire, could ye please tell me yer whole name?” Ian asked sheepishly.

“Of course. It’s Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp.”

While Ian wrote it down with elegant strokes, Claire looked for an absent Jamie, who had left the room silently. Jenny was helping Murtagh stand up, and when Ian finished the contract, they all looked around for the groom to be, only to find him crossing the threshold with a small piece of tartan on his hand, one that his sister recognized, as Claire fathomed from her gasp. Jamie stood by her, looking at the fabric.

“My parents handfasted as well. When they run from Leoch, they had to or my uncles wad’a had a claim on their sister. This is the Fraser tartan, and my father used this verra piece for the ceremony, and later for the wedding. He gave it to me,” his voice low with emotion, “hoping one day I’d use it in my own.”

He offered it to Jenny then, who also took his dirk and, unexpectedly for Claire, grabbed their right wrists and cut them in a swift but shallow move, enough to draw blood. Then, she put one above the other, and wrapped them with the tartan, tying it tightly. Jamie stared into Claire’s eyes, trying to read her, to search for any sign of discontent. Other than some understandable bewilderment, all he could see was joy. And love, in the widest expression of the word. Her fingers grabbed his wrist, feeling the quick pulse under the skin.

“Repeat after me. _Is tu fuil ‘o mo chuislean, is tu cnaimh de mo chnaimh. Is leatsa mo bhodhaig, chum gum bi sinn ‘n ar n-aon. Is leatsa m’anam gus an criochnaich ar saoghal._ “

Jamie said each sentence slowly, allowing her to get the words if not the meaning, and focusing on her lips pronouncing them right. The vow, one every Scot learnt in the cradle, had never made as much sense as it was making in Claire’s voice. His father had taught the words to a young Jamie, one whose mind had never wondered about the joys of love. But despite the defiance inherent to any boy still immersed in childhood, Jamie memorized them and fantasized, as years went by, with the woman he’d eventually tell them to. Now he had her in front of him, her eyes bright with emotion and her grasp strong and secure, he understood them under a new light.

After Claire had said the last part of the oath, silence cloaked over them, at least until Murtagh cleared his throat impatiently.

“Lad, kiss her before I die of old age.”

Blushing, Jamie placed his left hand in the sinuous curve of her waist and closed the already small distance between them. His lips grazed hers delicately, eliciting a smile on both of them, that lasted even when they opened their eyes.

 

_She’s happy, ye bawheid. Stop bein’ such a pain in the arse._


	17. The wedding night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! This was a chapter I wanted to pay special attention to, and I hope I managed to accomplish it :)

The house had already fallen into a quiet peace, after the rush of events, the timid laughter and the mused congratulations that welcomed them into marriage. Sitting on the bed, with her back to the door and her eyes wandering beyond the fogged glass of the window, the weight of their actions felt painfully heavy over her shoulders. They were all at risk. Ian would leave first thing in the morning and ride all the way to Fort William, only to deliver their marriage contract to the hands of a man who wouldn’t be stopped by a piece of paper. No, he wouldn’t let them be, but at least that would buy them enough time to find a ship that would sail them away, away from his grasp and hatred.

Swallowed by the sudden wave of worry, his muffled steps went unnoticed until his broad figure kneeled in front of her and extracted her twisting fingers from their upset knot. Under that new connection, warmth spread from his skin into hers, carrying a sense of certainty and serenity that washed the concern away.

“You are safe," a hushed, low voice danced away from his mouth, melting in her ears. ”You have my name and my family, my clan, and if necessary, the protection of my body as well. The man willna lay hands on ye again, while I live.”

Exhaling slowly, her eyes finally dared to meet his. And there it was. Absolute honesty, bravery and truth exposing themselves in those two pools of blue topaz, catching the golden glints of the candle. His words settled her troubled soul and for the first time in a very long time, she realized there was someone there for her, someone who would respect her and love her, asking nothing in return. A thin watery veil covered her eyes and Jamie perked up to kiss her forehead and embraced her tenderly. That safe space that had cradled her from the night he slept by her side, keeping her nightmares and terrors away like a heavenly Cerberus, not willing to allow anyone to steal her away.

Claire found herself resting against his chest, her arms returning that embrace, feeling his solid contours under her sensitive skin. The proximity turned into an unaware intimacy, each of them realizing the closeness between their bodies in a new context, one in which they weren’t afraid of consequences, honor or reputation. She was his, and he was hers, in the deepest meaning of possession. Slowly, his idle hands slid on her back, tentatively, trying to read her signals, deciphering the pressure of her fingertips against his shoulder blades. Already craving for the missing touch, his body pulled away, enough only to be able to face her, their eyes intertwined in a way words would never let them communicate.

“I would verra much like to kiss ye,” he whispered, pushing away an unruly curl from her cheek and tugging it behind her ear. “May I?”

A smile spread in her face, forcing another one of his own. Behind that simple gesture there was a throb of happiness Jamie had never seen before. Fear he had, yes, and sometimes, if he was lucky enough, he could perceive a little affection, but always clouded by darker, unfathomable traces of other sentiments, masking it away. But now she was looking at him and the purity of the joy she revealed filled his heart with a love he could have never imagined.

She nodded once, barely a hint for him to hold on to. The need he felt for her touch had to be reined in, for all he wanted her to draw from him was trust, to build a sanctuary where he could worship her and she would shower her blessings on his devoted soul. But when his lips brushed hers in the most delicate way, her hands flew to his nape and pulled him impossibly closer, both surprising and arousing him almost beyond control.

Jamie placed his hands on top of the bed, one on each of her sides, to balance himself. Her legs welcomed him between them, and her thighs pressed tightly around his torso under the layers and layers of fabric. Her mouth had lost all its shyness, and with it a world of promise and desire opened under his lips, willing to be explored, conquered. He sighed, pulling slightly away, allowing reality to sink in, realizing how much she had restrained herself, almost as much as he had, and found a new connection, a new dimension in which they both shared a feeling, deeper than anything any of them had known before.

Their hands began a dance of their own, synchronizing with each other like a ballet of doves, grazing, caressing, untying, unveiling. Linen and wool pooled around them and her soft planes and nooks captured the dim golden glow of the hearth, its crackling and their breaths the only sounds in the silent room. Jamie took a step back, not letting go of her hand, speechless before the magnificence shining in front of him. The curve of her hips, dying gracefully in the narrow circle of her waist, only to be reborn in the mounds of her ivory breasts, crowned in pink and ardor.

Short of breath, he closed the distance between them, feeling her nakedness against his own and his own desire stuck between them, aching to find its perfect sheath, that warm, nurturing cave every man come to this world to meet once they leave the comfort of the womb. The feathery mattress met them intertwined, her body trapped under his strength, her legs trapping him in return, her inner core inviting him to drive home, to complete them both, to soothe the throb of the unfulfilled void that had punctured them from the moment they met.

His fingers explored her secrets first, caressing, memorizing every fold, every inch of skin, every moan elicited under his ministrations. The sight of her face, burying itself on the pillow to suffocate the unstoppable sounds of desire, almost drove him over the edge, and when he felt her ready, in one swift thrust he consummated their passion. His mouth searched hers, swallowing her sighs with pleasure, biting when the end was near and her nails dug deep in his shoulders. Her release prompted his own, her tightness wrapping him harder with every spasm of lust and sending him away to a haven where senses were turned into raw emotion and his eyes were one with the stars.

 

* * *

 

In the dead of the night, Jamie woke up startled. His eyes darted open, and blinked furiously, teased by the sleep that still clung to them. A few embers were all that was left in the hearth, allowing the cold into the room. Trying not to disturb her quiet figure under the blankets, he stood up, pulling his kilt around his shoulders and rekindled the fire until small flames crackled pleasantly. But instead of returning to the warmth of the bed and the silent comfort of her body, he sat on the armchair near the window, the same he had sat every night since they had arrived to Lallybroch, wondering how he could confess his feelings to Claire, before leaving it to sleep by her door.

The chair was the same but his instance couldn’t be more different. His eyes fixated on her, lying on his bed, resting happily after their loving exchange. Being inside of her had been even more intense, more astonishing that he had ever imagined. It was like finding something he didn’t know he was missing, putting the final touch to a masterpiece and admiring its beauty beyond belief. But with that fulfillment, new needs and concerns had arisen. Even though he had felt it from the first moment he had laid eyes on her, the need to protect her was now like a new limb, a new part of him that had life of its own and demanded his full attention. The need to be worthy of her had evolved with the weight of a vow, carved in his soul from that night till the end of time. The concerns surrounding their unknown future. Fugitives from a man that might not leave them be, not even with an ocean between them. Even with the utter joy that danced in his blood from the moment it met hers, a heavy burden was now placed upon his shoulders.

His soulful toils kept him unaware of her whiskey eyes, staring at him, and the worried crease growing between them. Claire left the bed, covering her nakedness with a blanket, and kneeled in front of him.

“What is it?“ She asked with a thread of voice. His gaze was further away than what her words could reach, so she waited patiently for him to return to her, and when he did, a light veil of tears covered his pupils.

“I juist— Dinna fash, Sassenach. It’s late, go back to bed.”

She placed her hands on each of his cheeks and turned his face towards her.

“You’re my husband, and if you could talk to me before, now I can—no, I want to share the weight of your thoughts, maybe ease them a bit?”

He opened his mouth and closed it, and smiled knowingly, caressing her curls.

“I’m yer husband, I ken. And that’s it, precisely. I mean,” he hurried to clarify when he saw the suddenly hurt look in her eyes, “I want to protect ye. To provide for ye. To be a safe harbor where ye can rest, and forget the worries of this world. I want to be the one to carry your sorrows and— and to celebrate yer happiness. And—”

“And _you are_ , Jamie. Can’t you see?” She interrupted him, placing her fingers on his mouth and sitting on his lap, allowing herself to rest in his warmth. “You have been, and you will be my safe haven, the one and only place where I can be myself, the only ear I want to whisper to, and the only smile I want to cause. Maybe our lives are not what they were supposed to be. But maybe if they were, we wouldn’t be here, together. So for all I’ve been through, for all I’ve suffered, it will all be worth it if my life is yours to share.”

His tears swelled and wordlessly fell from his blue eyes, and Claire kissed them dry. His fingers got lost in her curls while their stares melt into each other’s.

“You’re verra precious to me, Claire. Verra precious to me,” he managed, his words filled with unrestrained emotion, before claiming her mouth, carrying her back to the bed in his arms.

 

* * *

 

Claire opened her eyes, almost against her will. Her lids felt heavy with sleep but also with contentment and peacefulness. As her body woke up back to life, a warm presence became present, lying behind her, every curve, every gap of her back filled with his solidness. His breath kissed her neck, teasing her curls and raising goosebumps on her shoulder, his arm firmly grounding him to reality, to the moment they were living, a constant anchor that kept her away from the dark hollows that had populated her days and nights before. His grasp was tight, the same a child holds on to his dearest possession, even in his sleep, and it became tighter as she felt him coming back to his senses, his lips grazing the skin of her shoulder.

A lazy smile crept up to her lips, and her hand looked for his, resting quietly on her belly.

“Och— Tell me that isna the sun comin’ out,” Jamie whispered pulling her closer, his hand beginning an explorative path through the moors of her hip.

“I’m afraid it is,” Claire said, trying to stand up and laughing wholeheartedly when he pulled her back to the bed and lay on top of her. “You know Murtagh will be waiting for us.”

“Excuse me if I dinna want to trade this for his bearded face and a week of seasickness,” Jamie claimed while his mouth began to drive away from hers and into her southern regions, but she stopped him, grabbing his head and forcing him back to face her.

“We really need to get ready, if we want to find a boat to leave Scotland.”

He smiled mischievously, shook his head like a dog making her laugh again, and took advantage of her hands leaving him free, only to resume his path of kisses over her breastbone. His tongue slowly caressed the softness of one tender breast, then the other, taking her nipple between his teeth and nibbling it while the sun set his auburn curls on fire. His eyes looked for her and when they met, a quick sigh left her lips. Her navel became his next errand, his breath exhilarating against the slightly wet skin, only to adventure even further below, much to her surprise.

“Wait, what—” Claire’s voice was met with a lopsided smile and a wicked gaze, right before he immersed himself into her depths. “Oooh— Oh.”


End file.
